From Here Onwards
by She Walks With Grace
Summary: They're feeling it now. The dull throb of an unfamiliar newness, not altogether welcomed. It's like wearing a new skin, and it doesn't quite fit.
1. Chapter 1: Uncomfortable Peace

**Chapter 1**

Harry turned, slipping the elder wand into his back pocket, but keeping his phoenix one clutched in his hand; it felt good to be reunited with it at last. Ron was staring at the floor, his shoulders slumped forward, but Hermione was fixing Harry with a scrutinising look.

"You should get some sleep," she said. He shook his head.

"I can't, everyone-"

"Is really grateful for what you've done for them." She cut in. "The least they can do in return is let you rest."

Harry thought about this. Since the adrenaline from the fight had worn off, fatigue had begun to spread through his limbs, now reaching a point where keeping his eyes open took a considerable effort, and he could feel the pulsing of blood under forming bruises, aches in places that he couldn't remember ever having hurt before.

"I suppose." He admitted. He glanced at Ron again. His face was still obscured by his hair, arms hanging loosely at his sides.

"Come on, let's go." Harry said to both of them. Hermione turned and headed for the spiral staircase, Harry in tow. Reluctantly, Ron followed suit.

"Here," Harry murmured to him, slowing on the stairs. He passed Ron something made from a silvery fabric from the pocket of his robes. Ron looked at him, but made no sign of gratitude. His expression was blank, hollow.

When they had reached the marble staircase, Hermione turned.

"I think I'm going to go and help Professor McGonagall with restoring the castle. She'll need as much help as she can get, that's for sure." She said, glancing around at the destruction with a small frown on her face.

"Yeah, okay. If I'm needed, I'll be in my dormitory." Harry told them. The words felt strange on his tongue. It hadn't been his dormitory for almost a year.

"Okay, see you later." Harry started climbing the stairs to the seventh floor, glancing back to see Ron disappear under the invisibility cloak. Reaching the portrait of the Fat Lady, he hoped there wouldn't be anyone in the common room.

"Well done, dear boy!" The Fat Lady trilled as he opened his mouth to admit he didn't know the password. He winced slightly at the sudden noise of her voice in the stillness of the building.

"Err, thanks. I'm sorry, I don't know the password."

"Don't worry, just go on through."

"Thanks," He said again, as she swung aside, allowing him into Gryffindor tower.

His heart jumped in his chest as he looked around the circular room. It was just as it had always been. A fire was roaring in the grate, and the large, squashy armchairs looked as welcoming as always. He was home. As he stepped into the room, he caught sight of the notice board, which was usually covered in messages about Quidditch practice, and apparition lessons, now had scraps of paper and what looked like cuttings from the Quibbler pinned to it. Each one had information about the war, and updates on sightings of Harry, Ron and Hermione, as well as copied down quotes from PotterWatch, and the passwords to the next broadcasts.

"No one but people who are true Gryffindors can see what they really say," said a voice behind him. Harry jumped and whirled around; reaching for his wand, before realising that it was Neville who had spoken. "The Carrows used to come and do dormitory and common room inspections, confiscating things they thought might be used against them, and anything that showed any sign of resistance. So I just got Dean and Seamus to perform a charm on this stuff so that to them, it just looks like normal notices. It was complicated magic, I have to say, but it did its job; they never found out what we were doing. Giving people hope." He smiled at Harry. "Anyway, I expect you'll be wanting to sleep. I'll see you later," And he disappeared out of the portrait hole.

Neville had done a good job, Harry thought to himself. He was glad that his grandmother had finally come to her senses and seen that Neville was most definitely worthy of his father's legacy.

Harry crossed the common room to the staircase that led to the dormitories. When he reached the door hung with the sign _Seventh Years, _he eagerly pushed it open, desperate to set eyes on the room that he had seen so many good times within.

It, like the common room, was almost exactly as he had left it. Harry assumed that the Carrows had taken Seamus and Neville's trunks their own care, once they took refuge in the Room of Requirement. Kicking off his shoes, he pulled back the sheets and climbed between them, only now realising how truly exhausted he was. Less than twenty four hours ago, he, Ron and Hermione had been in Gringotts, breaking into the Lestranges' vault. It seemed like weeks ago. But now all he wanted to do was forget. Forget the pain, the guilt, everything.

* * *

Harry slept without dreaming, though he vaguely remembered seeing the dormitory door open, and someone look into the room, before closing the door again with a soft _click_. He also dreamt of a flash of red, and what felt like someone removing his glasses. When he finally awoke, it was dark outside, and someone was curled up on Ron's bed, though he couldn't tell who; someone had indeed removed his glasses. He fumbled around his bedside table until he found them, and shoved them on.

"Ginny?" He asked in a hoarse whisper. She started.

"Harry?" He reached for his wand, which was still in his robes pocket.

"_Lumos_. What are you doing here?" Now he could see her, he realised her eyes were red-rimmed. Pushing aside the covers he pulled himself out of bed and rushed to her, scooping her into an embrace. She wrapped her arms around him, holding tightly, and Harry felt her shudder slightly as she burst into tears again. He didn't say anything, he didn't know if he could, there was too much pushing through the temporary barrier he had created in his mind, threatening to break through, break him, so he just buried his face in her hair, smothering all thoughts and feelings with _her_. They stayed like that for a very long time, until Ginny had stopped shaking, and the hiccoughs that followed had ended. Gently, Harry pulled away, holding her by the shoulders, and looking at her. He had missed her so badly it hurt, and here she was, at last.

"Hey," He said softly.

"Hey," She responded weakly.

"I missed you so much," Ginny wrapped her arms around his neck, and he leaned down to capture her lips, dropping his arms to her waist, pulling her flush against him. After a moment they broke apart again, and hugged, tightly.

"I missed you too," She whispered. He wrapped an arm around her, and they walked towards the door, back to the common room. He pulled her down onto his lap on a sofa by the fire, tucking her head underneath his chin. A few more people were up here now. A rather morose looking Lee was sitting in a corner, staring into a mug of tea, but his glazed expression suggested that he wasn't really seeing it, and Neville and his Grandmother sat in a comfortable silence by the portrait hole. A sudden clattering from it brought everyone out of their reveries with a start, and every head turned to where an extremely flustered looking Hermione had burst into the room.

Her eyes fell on Harry, and she immediately asked, "Have you seen Ron? Mrs Weasley is getting slightly frantic." Harry shook his head.

"I'm, uh, afraid I gave him the invisibility cloak," He told her, feeling guilty, "He just looked like he needed to get out, earlier." Hermione nodded, looking understanding, before she came to her senses with a jolt.

"Harry! If he's wearing the invisibility cloak, it could take us _hours_ to find him!"

"I hadn't thought about that, sorry. Maybe we should go and try to find him. What's the time?"

"Almost nine o'clock."

"_Nine_? But that means he's been gone almost twelve hours! I thought he'd come back soon." A look of worry came into Hermione's eyes.

"We should go find him."

"I'll come, too." said Ginny, surprising them both.

* * *

They passed many people on the way back down to the entrance hall, most calling out to Harry and Hermione as they passed. Harry smiled at them, but otherwise didn't respond. The night outside was cold, but in the hours Harry had been asleep, the majority of the grounds had been cleared, with the occasional chunk of stone littering the lawn. Hermione instantly made a start towards the lake, and it took a moment for Harry to realise why. As he approached, a stone appeared out of nowhere, bouncing a few times over the inky black water, spreading circles of ripples, before there was a _plop_, and the stone disappeared beneath the surface of the water. Ginny, who had been clutching Harry's hand, ran forwards and grabbed for the invisibility cloak in the place the stone had appeared from. It fell away, and Ron spun around. Ginny threw her arms around him, and after a moment, he hugged her back, shaking as they were both wracked by sobs for their lost brother. Harry didn't know what to do. It seemed such a private moment, something he wasn't meant to see, but at the same time he wanted to be part of it. He wanted to be comforted, held, and allowed to collapse from the weight in his chest. His heart ached at their loss, his own loss. The Weasleys were the closest thing he had to a family; losing Fred was like losing his own brother. He thought of George. He had very rarely seen them apart, and now they would never be together again. A lump rose in his throat, as the backs of his eyes burned. Soon, the sobs quietened, and Ron and Ginny broke apart. Ron looked over at Harry, and smiled weakly, before striding over and embracing Hermione.

"Sorry, I think I'm okay now. I just needed some time." Harry knew that twelve hours wasn't enough time, and the look on Ron's face seemed to agree with his thoughts. At the moment it felt like no amount of time would heal them.

"We understand," She told him, her eyes sparkling. "Everyone grieves differently; I guess suffering on your own is just your own way of coping." His lips twitched, and Harry knew what he was thinking. Trust Hermione to have an explanation for everything. Ron put an arm over Ginny's shoulders, and around Hermione's waist, as Harry put an arm over Ginny's. Together they walked back to the school, in silence.


	2. Chapter 2: Bruises

**Chapter 2**

"Where _have_ you been?" Cried Mrs Weasley, rushing over from the Gryffindor table as they entered the Great Hall. "I've been worried sick!' She pulled Ron into a suffocating hug.

"Sorry, Mum," He mumbled into her shoulder.

Harry looked around at the rest of the family. Bill and Charlie were sitting together, talking in low voices, and Mr Weasley seemed to be trying to persuade a distraught and uncharacteristically silent Percy to go and get some sleep. George was sitting alone, further down the table, staring at his hands. Droplets of water were falling from the end of his nose every few seconds. Each Weasley was distinctly red-eyed. Harry was struck by another pang of guilt. _His fault_.

"Harry dear, you must be starving," Mrs Weasley said, releasing Ron.

"Err," The truth was, he was ravenous; he had forgotten to call on Kreacher for that sandwich all those hours ago, but he had never felt less like eating.

"Of course you are," Mrs Weasley interrupted. "I'm afraid they've stopped serving dinner, but you can pop down to the kitchens; I'm sure the house elves will be more than willing to whip you up something." Harry nodded.

"Actually, Mrs Weasley, I was just going to call Kreacher."

"Of course, of course. I hope you don't mind, but we'll be staying here until tomorrow evening. There's going to be a memorial service for everyone who died," Her voice broke, "and a funeral for people whose families want them to be buried here."

"That's fine. Will- will he be buried here?"

"Err, no, we don't think so. George won't tell us what he thinks we should do. I think we all want him close to home, though." Her voice had grown very soft, and her eyes sparkled with fresh tears.

"Molly, may I talk to you," came a voice from behind Harry. He turned to see Professor McGonagall.

"Yes, of course, Minerva." Mrs Weasley bustled past the four of them, blinking rapidly. Harry glanced sadly at Hermione, not quite knowing what to do or say.

"Kreacher," he called once they were gone. There was a _crack_ and the elf appeared before him, beaming.

"Master," He said in his bull-frog's voice, bowing deeply.

"Hey, err, could you get us some food. Nothing too big, just sandwiches or something."

"Of course, Master." And he clicked his fingers once more disappeared again.

* * *

Kreacher, it would seem, did not understand the concept of 'nothing too serious'. A short time later, steaming bowls of soup, plates of roast dinner, and a large chocolate gateau appeared on the table in front of them. They each looked at the food, but no one made any move to eat it. Slowly, Harry pulled a plate towards him, and began picking at the meal. The others followed suit, but no one ate much. Ginny reached for a bread roll, and began to tear it apart, as if to dip it in her soup, but instead, she just kept pulling it apart, until it was a mere pile of bread crumbs on the table. It was Hermione who spoke first, once they had all pushed their plates away, fed up with pushing their food around their plates, unable to bring themselves to eat anything.

"You need to sleep, Ron. It's been well over a day and a half since you last did, you must be exhausted."

"Yeah, I guess." He admitted.

"I think I'll go to bed, too, though I did sleep earlier. Ginny?" She said.

"I might as well," She yawned, stretching, before standing up. They all trooped off back to Gryffindor tower, Harry slightly unsure as to what to do now; he'd only been awake for a couple of hours. Maybe he'd go and talk to Neville, find out more about what had been going on in the past year.

Harry kissed Ginny goodnight at the foot of the stairs to her dormitory, before collapsing on the sofa by the fire. He hadn't had much time to think about what had happened so far. Once it had, he had been bombarded by people wanting to talk to him, thank him, and comfort them over lost friends and family members. Thinking back to the moment where it actually happened, the images were vague, he couldn't remember what happened exactly; it happened so fast. But it _had_. It was over! He almost laughed out loud with relief. Lord Voldemort would never hurt another living soul, and at this moment, the remaining followers of his were being rounded up by aurors. But the weight of on his heart meant that he couldn't feel any less like celebrating. Fred, Tonks, Lupin, Colin; it was horrible. He vowed to make it his duty to look after Teddy with Andromeda; he would make sure he knew about his parents, and why they died. Teddy wouldn't grow up like Harry had; he could take comfort in that. He would grow up in the wizarding world, knowing who his parents were, who he was. Though, Harry thought, suppressing a chuckle, it would be hard to hide Teddy in the Muggle world. Until he was old enough to learn that it wasn't normal, it would be a little difficult to hide turquoise hair. If Teddy was anything like his mother, he would certainly enjoy sporting hair of peculiar colours. Imagine Uncle Vernon's expression if he had to look after a child with purple hair and orange eyes. Harry's desire to help with the upbringing of this one child burned like a candle in a black room; a flame of hope, one thing that could keep him going.

He turned his head and stared into the flickering flames, remembering conversations he'd had with Sirius. Where was he supposed to go from here? Did he want to come back in September, to take his seventh year? Ginny would be coming back, of course. And he could become an Auror if he got the grades. But somehow, coming back didn't seem right. His time at Hogwarts was probably over, he thought, sadly. Maybe he might just take a year out, maybe do the studying for N.E., and ask Professor McGonagall if he could sit the exams next summer. But after, well, the past seven years, having a year of relaxing and having a normal life sounded... boring. He made a mental note to talk to Ron and Hermione about this. He'd go where they decide go, probably. What about Quidditch? He had never really thought about what he would do once he was out of school, it had never really come up.

Harry thought over all of his options until, eventually, he fell asleep where he lay on the sofa, only this time, he didn't sleep so peacefully. The faces of Remus, Tonks, Fred and Colin loomed out of the darkness at him; he dreamt of an unearthly sound, like worlds being wrenched apart, and being catapulted backwards, followed by screams of "Fred! FRED!"; and he saw a shockingly distorted face -with slits for nostrils- that was glowing bright red, as though surrounded by flames cast upon it by a high window, through which could be a seen a burning sunrise.

* * *

He was awoken by something tickling his face. His raised a hand to try and bat it away.

"Harry!" Ginny hissed. He opened his eyes. Ginny was leaning over him, her long red hair breaking free from behind one ear, hanging into his face.

"What's up?" Harry yawned.

"You need to pack, and then we're going down to breakfast before the memorial service at ten."

"Ok," He said, stretching, joints twinging, and pulled himself into a sitting position. Ginny disappeared up the stairs, and after a moment to collect his thoughts, Harry followed.

Ron was pulling on a pair of plain black robes; the singed and grubby ones he'd worn in the battle lay in a bundle near the bin.

"Do we actually have anything to pack?" Harry asked him.

"Not really, Hermione's got everything in that bag of hers already, and I don't think we'll need to keep these robes," Ron said, jerking his head in the direction of the discarded robes. "She left you some clean ones, by the way,"

Harry wandered into the bathroom and began to remove his tattered clothes, wincing as his joints popped and his injuries throbbed. He dropped them on the tiled floor and glanced in the mirror over the chipped sink. His hair now reached to his chin, which was covered with a dark shadow, interrupted by a deep slash that crossed his cheek. Harry was surprised Mrs Weasley hadn't insisted he go see Madame Pomfrey as soon as she saw him. The skin of his torso was mottled and scratched, but it was nothing in comparison to the enormous black bruise that blossomed over the centre of his chest. A couple of ribs seemed to be pushing outwards, pressing against his skin. At the top of the bruise sat a smudge of white: the scar from where the locket had been severed from his chest. He pulled his glasses off, leaving them by the sink, and stepped into a waiting shower, flicking on the faucet and allowing the water to cascade over him.

The pounding of the shower acted like white noise from a radio: blocking everything out with its steady beat, drumming on his back. Once he had finished washing, he stepped out of the shower, wincing slightly from the blast of cold air, and the frigid stone beneath his feet. He quickly dried off, avoiding putting pressure on the worst of his abrasions. He pulled on the new robes, and looked back at the mirror. Harry frowned at his reflection, and pulled out his wand, muttering a spell. The dark stubble vanished, and he turned the wand to his hair, speaking a different incantation, and chunks of black hair fell into the sink. It was an extremely rough job, but it was better than having chin length hair; Mrs Weasley would have pounced on him the minute they got back to the Burrow. Picking up the old clothes, he strode back into the dormitory, running a hand through his shorn hair as he did so. Ron glanced over from where he lay draped over his bed.

"How are the injuries?"

"Not great," Harry admitted, "I'll probably go and see Madame Pomfrey later. Got a couple of broken ribs."

"That bad? The worst I've got is some nasty scrapes from the wall that exploded..." Ron trailed off, fixing his gaze firmly on the ceiling.

"Come on," said Harry, quietly. Ron pulled himself off the bed, still not looking at him, and together they turned towards the door, just as Hermione and Ginny appeared.

"Oh good, you're ready," Hermione gave Ron a lingering look, "The service doesn't start for a couple of hours, so we're in no rush. Have you got everything?"

"The question is, have you? You're the one with all our stuff," said Ron.

"True, and yes, I have, I was just making sure. Shall we go?" She turned and headed back down the spiral staircase. Ron followed her, and Ginny slipped her hand into Harry's and together they headed down for breakfast. F4s

* * *

They joined a rather subdued group of Weasleys in the Great Hall. Bill glanced up and smiled at them as they approached, but otherwise nobody made any sign of noticing their presence.

Breakfast was a solemn affair; hardly anything was said other than a few enquiries of "Sleep well?" and "Would you mind passing the milk?". George excused himself the moment he had finished. Harry soon followed, saying he needed to go and do something, while giving Ron and Hermione a significant look.

* * *

He strolled across the lawn towards Dumbledore's tomb, heart thumping in his chest. The top was still cracked; a jagged line that ran straight down the middle of it.

"_Wingardium Leviosa," _Harry whispered, watching one half of the slab of marble rise into the air, wavering slightly under its own weight. He guided it to the ground, and reached for the elder wand.

"Sorry, Professor," He mumbled, as he pulled back side of the cloth draped over the frail body. Carefully, he placed the wand in the Headmaster's hand, before levitating the marble back into place, and casting the strongest sealing charm he knew over the split in the rock. He then proceeded to cast protection charms all over it; no one would disturb Albus Dumbledore's resting place again.

* * *

An hour before the memorial saw Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny sitting by the edge of the lake, just chatting amongst themselves about nothing in particular, trying to keep the mood light, ignoring the subject that was pressing down on them like a dead weight. A hundred metres away, rows of spindly white chairs sat, facing a platform that had been erected to the right of Dumbledore's tomb, which shone brightly in the May morning sun.

"Hey, Harry, it's Kingsley," said Ginny, looking in the direction of the front steps. Sure enough, Kingsley Shacklebolt, newly appointed Minister for Magic was striding across the lawn towards them.

"Good morning, Harry, Ron, Hermione," He addressed them each in turn. Ginny made a slight sound of annoyance when her name wasn't mentioned. "Harry, I was wondering, would you mind saying something at the memorial service? I'm sorry it's such short notice; it doesn't have to be anything long, just a few words. I think it would mean a lot to everyone."

"Err, okay? I don't know what I would say though..." He trailed off.

"Whatever comes to mind and seems appropriate will be perfect. I'm sorry, I've got to go, I'm on a rather tight schedule."

"That's fine, minister," Harry said, a grin playing on his lips. Kingsley laughed.

"That's going to take some getting used to, I have to say. Mind you, I may not get the chance to, I'm only the temporary minister, remember?"

"Well, compared to the last three ministers we've had, they'd be mad to get rid of you," Ron piped up. "Let's see, who have we had? Fudge, tosser; Scrimgeour, git; and Thicknesse, Imperiused Death Eater." They all laughed, and some of the tension in the atmosphere seemed to dissipate.

"Yes, well, I'd better be off. I'll see you lot in an hour." A shadow seemed to flit across his face, and his smile slackened. Kingsley turned, and strode off back towards the school. Ron and Hermione turned back to look at Harry.

"What do you think you'll say?" Hermione asked.

"No idea," He admitted. "I think I'll just have to wing it."

There was a slight murmur between people as they started to file into their seats, but otherwise, everything was quiet, but for the sound of birds singing nearby. Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys sat near the front, with Kingsley and McGonagall. Once everyone was seated, the small, wispy man that had spoken at Dumbledore's funeral climbed the steps at the side of the platform, and stood before the lectern. He cleared his throat, and began.

"Yesterday, in the very early hours of the morning, Hogwarts witnessed what was probably the worst battle that has ever been held on its grounds. It witnessed a fight against Lord Voldemort." The name rang out through the grounds, but nobody flinched. "In its own way, it took part in this battle, as its suits of armour, gargoyles, and students were called to fight. Yesterday was a day when young wizards and witches stood up, and took arms to fight for what they knew was right, and good. Yesterday was a great and terrible day. Great, because the good and true were victorious, but many lost their lives. Fifty four people gave up their lives last night to stop the evil that had taken rule of our world for the past year." As the man continued to speak, Harry watched reflections play over the surface of the lake, blocking out the impersonal words of a man who wasn't there when it happened, didn't experience it, didn't know those who died. The man finished his speech, and Kingsley rose from his seat to speak. The atmosphere changed considerably. It seemed to relax slightly, and everyone who knew him personally seemed happier to have someone more appropriate speak. Kingsley had known what it had been like.

"We have won a vicious battle, one against a side that both outnumbered us, and fought with sheer ruthlessness. We showed them that those two things alone are not enough. We had something they did not: something worth fighting _for_. In fact, we had a lot to fight for: the world we had before, after the first war; our rightful place in this world, whether pure blood or muggleborn; and those we had lost through the movements of the other side. Those who died will not have died without cause, and it is terrible that they were lost, but every single one of them went into battle knowing full well what might happen, yet they still went forth, and fought with strength and bravery, and played their part in our victory. This is how we should remember them, not as people who died at the hands of Lord Voldemort, but people who died in beating him. Thank you." Kingsley stepped away from the stand, and nodded slightly at Harry, who suddenly felt as though his stomach had dropped through his feet. Ginny gave his hand a light squeeze as he stood up and walked forwards. Once behind the stand, he looked out over the rows of people before him, over the grounds, and up at Hogwarts itself.

Taking a deep breath, he said, "I think Kingsley pretty much covered it there. I came here late at night, a few hours before the battle began, because I needed to continue with what I'd been doing over the past year, under Dumbledore's orders. I had intended to do what I needed to do, and leave again, but that was easier said than done. One thing led to another, and two hours later, we had a full blown war on our hands. We were given the option of handing me over, or fighting, and I was never actually given the opportunity to voice my own opinion on this matter. Voldemort thought he knew me, thought I would come to him, rather than letting others fight for me. He was right. But instead, people stood up and fought. I didn't ask them to; I didn't want them to, but if they hadn't, it probably wouldn't have ended as it did. And what pains me is that so many people died rather than turning me over, that I didn't even know! The losses we suffered should not, _will not_, be forgotten. I only hope that they are proud of what they achieved in fighting yesterday, proud that they have made a happier place for their friends and family, and I hope that they are at peace now. Thanks." Harry bowed his head, and walked back off the platform. He couldn't remember most of what he had said, and hoped it had been okay.

The little man reappeared, and asked everyone to stand. They rose as one body. Out of the ground behind Dumbledore's tomb rose a marble pillar, like a war memorial. It was blank, but then the man lifted his wand, and started reading names aloud. And as he spoke, the names started carving themselves into the marble in shining, gold letters, sparkling in the sunlight. Colin Creevey, Nymphadora Lupin, and Remus Lupin appeared on the monument as they were called, and finally, Fred Weasley. Harry heard Ginny draw a long, shuddering breath, and wrapped an arm around her waist. A tear slid down her face. Ron was staring as the ground, fists clenched, and Hermione was biting her lip, brow furrowed, her eyes glistening.

A sound behind them made them all look over their shoulders. Two dozen or so mahogany coffins, each supported between two thestrals, came down the aisle. A few people gasped at the sight of the skeletal horses. Once they had reached the platform, the procession turned left, and the thestrals filed into rows before the tomb and monument. The man started talking again, naming those who would be buried at Hogwarts. When he was finished, he waved his wand, and the harnesses between the horses vanished, and the coffins sank to the ground. The man started speaking a rapid incantation, his wand raised high above his head, issuing streams of gold and silver that curled through the air and split apart, before plunging through the lid of each coffin, which glowed bright gold, with silver runes looping across the surface. Then, the monument began to glow the same colour, and a stream of gold shot out the top of it, shooting up into the sky, before exploding like a firework, expanding into a blanket that seemed to fill the sky. If anybody had been looking at the ground, the wound have seen the rows of coffins sink into it, and marble headstones inscribed with the names and birth to death dates of each person rise from it. The thestrals stretched their huge, leathery wings and took off, soaring upwards until they were mere black specks, and the web of magic fell from the sky, showering them all with golden sparks.


	3. Chapter 3: Angst

**Chapter 3: Angst**

And everyone began to smile. Through the tears and the grief, smiles were breaking through. Harry was overcome by a sudden urge to laugh. He felt free of all the sorrow that had been bearing down on him since the battle. There was no need to mourn the lost; wherever they were now, they were happy, and safe from harm.

"A cheering charm," Hermione hissed beside him.

Harry's bubble popped.

"Well, it's a bit more complex than that'" She continued to say, "I think it's something sometimes known as a silver lining charm. It makes you see the good sides of bad things. It's really rather clever."

"Hermione," said Ron from her other side, "do us a favour, and shut up. You're ruining the magic of it." Harry snorted.

"Well, you know what I mean. It's no fun when you know how it's done. Oh hey, that rhymed!"

"You're not helping yourself sound intelligent, Ron," said Ginny, leaning around Harry to join the conversation. "In fact, you appear more stupid for each word that comes out of your mouth." Ron's ears reddened.

"Yeah, quit while you're ahead, mate." Harry agreed. Ron scowled, and the four fell back into silence.

"Let's go and see who's been buried here." Hermione said finally, in a small voice. Harry nodded, but to be honest, was afraid to see the names of those who laid down their lives because of him, and not be able to put faces to them. Ginny tugged lightly on his hand, pulling him towards the rows of sparkling marble. Each grave they passed, Hermione conjured a large yellow sunflower out of the air, and laid it to rest at the base of the headstone. At the fifth grave, Harry stopped, unable to look away from the name that seemed to be shrieking at him from the rock.

"Harry?" Ron asked, seeing his expression. He turned to look at the name on the stone. "Oh."

_Colin Creve_

_Born May 31st 1981_

_Died May 2nd 1998_

Inside, Harry was screaming. He wanted to run, get out of here; it was too much. He had never given much time to getting to know Colin, and yet the boy had practically hero worshipped him, and had sneaked back into the school to fight because of him. Harry had never reiterated enough how different the real thing was to simply practising the spells in Dumbledore's Army. In the real thing, you don't have time to think about pronunciation, what spell would work best against the enemy at hand. You're under pressure, you're fighting for your life, and it becomes so difficult to think clearly under these circumstances; you just start yelling out spells and hope for the best. That's what Harry had done, at least. He hoped Colin had really understood that before deciding to return; he wouldn't be able to live with himself otherwise.

A strangled sob from behind Harry cut off his train of thought. He turned to see Ginny, tears streaming down her face. Ginny, he thought, of course, she would have been good friends with him. They were in the same year, after all, and he had seen them walking to lessons together on occasion. He tried to embrace her, but she pushed him away, taking steadying breaths to try and stem the flow of tears. Harry knew he shouldn't be worried. Ginny rarely cried, she was tough, but now it was understandable. They had all been through so much.

* * *

"Mrs Weasley, honestly, it's fine, I can stay at Number 12; I don't want to inconvenience you." Harry tried again to reason with her.

"Don't be silly, dear, you're staying with us. Besides, Grimmauld Place hasn't been checked by the Aurors yet, and I'm not letting you anywhere near that place until it has," said Mrs Weasley, effectively ending the conversation.

They were walking the familiar path to Hogsmeade, so they could disapparate to the Burrow. Harry knew the house would be overcrowded with the Weasley clan alone, let alone Fleur, Hermione and himself. Though, of course, there would be one of the Weasleys missing.

"Stop fussing, Harry," Ginny whispered, "Bill and Fleur will are going back to Shell Cottage, there'll be room."

They reached Hogsmeade, but no one made any move to disapparate. They all glanced at each other, and saw in each other's eyes their reluctance to leave. For what was next? Where did they go from here? For some the path onwards was clearer, but for Harry, Ron and Hermione, it was like stepping into a new life, options sprawled in front of them. Harry turned and looked up at the castle, watching the speck that was a large owl flutter through a window into the owlery. _Bye, home_.

_Crack_. George had disapparated. But not completely. Mrs Weasley screamed.

"Molly, disapparate! We need to get to the Burrow." Mr Weasley ordered, but she seemed too hysterical to be able to. He grabbed her by the arm and turned on the spot. Within seconds, the rest of the Weasleys were following suit. Harry caught Ginny's hand and spun. _The Burrow, the Burrow, the Burrow. _Her grip on his hand tightened as the suffocating pressure pushed down on them, and then they were tumbling onto the grass outside the Burrow's back gate. Ron and Hermione had arrived a second before them, and were scrambling to their feet and running through the gate. Harry dashed after them.

"He splinched himself? But how? Him and... were always great at apparating? Weren't they?" he asked Hermione, catching up with her.

"He probably wasn't thinking about it," She was frantically searching through her beaded purse. "There!" She withdrew her hand, the small bottle of dittany clutched in it.

"Hermione, it's not going to work." Mr Weasley told her softly when she offered it to him, "He'll need to go to St. Mungo's. I'll take him now."

Behind him, Bill was scooping George into his arms, Fleur at his side. There was so much blood...

At the same time, Bill, Fleur, Molly and Arthur disapparated. Silence fell. Harry and Hermione exchanged meaningful glances. How could this happen? They'd been through so much already. The Weasleys had lost too much. Charlie broke the silence.

"I should go."

"Me too." said Percy.

"You guys should stay here. We'll send a patronus soon." Ron nodded woodenly; Harry suspected he wasn't really listening. Another two _crack_s, and the four of them were left on their own, standing in the back garden.

* * *

The kettle began to sing, breaking the reverie that had held them, as they each sat in the sitting room, staring at the carpet. There had been no news, yet. Hermione leapt up and dashed into the kitchen. Harry followed, just to escape the atmosphere that hung in the room.

"Need help?"

"No, no, I'm fine." She was bustling around the kitchen in a Mrs Weasley type fashion. He would have laughed if it were not for the situation they were in. He sat down, and glanced up at the wall, to discover Mrs Weasley's clock no longer sat there. It must have been taken to Aunt Muriel's, he thought, before realising that Mrs Weasley probably would not go and get it back; the thought of where Fred's hand on it would be inevitably pointing was bad enough, let alone actually seeing it.

"Okay. Need company?" He tried again. She gave him a weak smile.

"That would be nice."

Harry watched as she dropped teabags into mugs, and then reached for the kettle. Her hand was shaking so much that, on trying to pour it, scolding water splashed all over the counter.

"Whoa," cried Harry, rushing over and taking the kettle from her. "Here, I'll do this." Reluctantly, she collapsed into a chair.

"He will be okay." she said, but it sounded more like she was trying to convince herself of this, rather than him.

"I know," He said softly.

They carried the mugs of tea back into the living room, and settled back into silence. The hours ticked by, and gradually, they each fell asleep where they sat, waiting for news.

* * *

Harry's eyes snapped open. A huge, silvery dragon stood before him, its horned tail waving back and forth across the carpet. It opened its jaws and spoke in Charlie's voice.

"George is okay, we're coming home," The patronus disintegrated.

Harry noticed that the others had woken at the voice. There was a collective sigh of relief.

"I'll make breakfast." Hermione announced, and dashed off to the kitchen. Ginny turned to Ron, grinning.

"Congratulations, Ron, she's our mother." Harry couldn't help laughing out loud.

"I heard that!" Hermione yelled from the other room. Ron chuckled, but his ears reddened.

A few minutes later, when the house was full of the smell of sizzling bacon, there was a series of pops in the distance, and the other six Weasleys and Fleur appeared beyond the gate. Ginny threw open the back door, and ran out, throwing her arms around George. Weakly, he hugged her back. Ron greeted him at the doorway.

"Nice going," He joked, "Really, truly skillful." Harry coughed.

"How many times have you splinched yourself in the past year, eh, Ron? Let's see, in your test, you lost half an eyebrow, you told us about splinching a couple of fingernails...oh, and I seem to remember you losing a large chunk of your arm, as well." Ron scowled, but Mrs Weasley whitened, and Hermione flinched at the memory.

"Shut up, Harry," He mumbled, embarrassed.

They filed into the kitchen, but the table really wasn't made to sit eleven, so after a lot of "No, you sit, I'll stand."ing, Bill, Charlie, Mr Weasley and Ron stood leaning against the kitchen counter, balancing plates of eggs and bacon in their hands, though no one was really eating but George, who was being forced to by his mother, looking as though all he wanted to do was bury himself somewhere nobody could reach him; nobody that reminded him of...

The talk was light hearted. This wasn't the Burrow Harry remembered. The atmosphere was tense, as if fighting to get back to its normal, cheery warmth, but unable to, because although the small kitchen was crowded, it was impossible to notice the gaping hole in the family that Fred Weasley would have filled.


	4. Chapter 4: Mending

**Chapter 4: Mending**

Harry sat on a hill, looking over Ottery St. Catchpole. The sun shone brightly over the little village, and on the horizon, the sea sparkled in its light. The morning was warm and fresh, and Harry was relishing this opportunity to escape the dead house.

"Harry," A voice spoke softly from behind him. He turned to see Ginny.

"Hey," She cam and sat down beside him, wrapping her arms around her knees. Nothing more was said, and they together they watched the sun climb higher in the sky.

"I need to talk to you." She said eventually. Harry found himself nodding, his eyes firmly fixed on the sea.

"About us," Ginny continued, "It seems as though we've just been continuing as though nothing happened, as though you didn't break up with me, leave me behind."

"Ginny, you know why I did that..."

"I know, but on your birthday, after I, uh, gave you your present," Harry remembered vividly. "You barely spoke to me afterwards. I kind of hoped you would ask me to dance at the wedding, but then everything went crazy..."

"Ron told me not to play you around. He said that you were really upset by the break up. I didn't want to hurt you." Ginny nodded, but continued to stare at her hands.

"There's something else, isn't there." said Harry. She nodded again.

"You let Voldemort kill you. You just walked out of the castle, leaving behind everyone who had fought to protect you, people who had _died_ for you! That's not _fair_, Harry!" Finally, she turned her head to look at him, her expression one of anguish.

"I had to," He said, softly, "So many more people would have died. And it was the only way I could stop him. He was _inside_ me, Ginny. Part of his soul, _in me_! While that bit was in me, he couldn't die. If I let him kill me, that bit died too, and if Neville killed the snake, then that gave the rest of you the chance to kill him. I did it to save everyone. I had to."

"You didn't say goodbye."

"You wouldn't have let me go." He reasoned.

"You would have found a way to go, anyway." Ginny countered.

"I don't know if I would have been able to."

They fell back into silence.

"Tell me what actually happened."

Harry had known she would ask this at some point, but he wasn't sure if he was ready to tell her yet. He stood up, and fixed his eyes on the horizon again, thinking how to say it all.

"I found out what I had to do," He began hesitantly. "So I left the castle, under the invisibility cloak. I told Neville to try and kill Nagini..." He paused, wondering how to go on. "I passed you. I passed you, helping a girl..." Harry looked back at her, expecting her to say something, but she just looked at him, her eyes soft. "I wanted to go to you, it hurt me not to be able to... So I kept walking. I found him in the forest. And-" He was unable to continue.

"Harry," He turned. Ginny had moved to stand behind him. Her eyes shone with tears. She flung her arms around his neck, and hugged him tightly.

"You were so brave," She murmured into his chest.

"I thought of you," he whispered, "Just before he did it, I thought of you." Ginny pulled away slightly, staring into his eyes. Then she leaned up, and kissed him. It was just like his birthday, all those months ago, and once again, everything was her; the flowery smell of her hair, it's softness between his fingers, the feel of her beneath his hands and on his lips. The sun danced around them, and below, in the Weasley's orchard, someone stood alone, head hung and shoulders slumped, but they noticed none of this. All they knew was each other.

Harry couldn't put returning to the Burrow off any longer. Today, the Weasleys had been making the plans for Fred's funeral, and the mood in the house was sombre. Harry had not thought it his place to intrude on the arrangements, so had slipped out just after breakfast. Setting off back down the hill with Ginny, something suddenly occurred to him.

"Why aren't you helping with...?" There it was again. Fred's name had not been spoken since his death. It was too painful.

"I couldn't stand it in there, thinking about it." She told him quietly. "Hermione went off somewhere as well, and Ron wasn't saying anything, and neither was George. In fact, no one really said very much. I excused myself."

"Harry?" Ginny said, softly, after a moment.

"Yeah?"

"Let's take it slow, okay?" Harry nodded, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

* * *

Harry and Ginny entered the living room together to see the Weasleys sitting with mugs of tea, in silence.

George was nowhere to be seen. "Hey," said Ginny. Mrs Weasley looked up.

"Oh hello, Ginny dear. I was wondering where you had got to.

"Sorry, mum. I just..." Molly nodded, needing no explanation.

"Harry! There you are! Ron got up this morning and said you had gone, we were beginning to get worried."

"Sorry, Mrs Weasley."

"It's okay, love. Kingsley sent an owl, by the way. He said they've checked over and secured Grimmauld Place."

"Oh, okay."

Harry glanced around the room. Charlie, Bill, Fleur, Mr Weasley and Mrs Weasley were all sat around the coffee table, which had pieces of paper advertising everything from flowers to tomb stone engravings. A piece of parchment covered in scribbles and tea stains sat the middle of the table, along with a quill and a pot of black ink.

"How's, uh, the planning going?" He asked cautiously. Mr Weasley sighed.

"Not well. It would be so much better if George would talk to us, or even stay in the house. I wish he would say something." He looked round at the rest of the family. Ron and Percy were sitting on the sofa, looking everywhere but the table covered in dreadful reminders...

"We should give 'im ze best funeral zat anybody 'as ever 'ad!" Said Fleur, suddenly, making them all jump. "Zere shall be flowers of every colour imaginable, and zer shall be everybody he knew zer."e deserves a funeral fit for ze king of France!"

"Well, I'm not sure we can afford..." Mr Weasley began.

"Who cares? Money is no matter! He should have only ze best! I shall pay out of my own pocket if I have to!" Every single person in the room looked utterly gob smacked. They certainly had not expecting this from her.

"Fleur... We don't expect you to do that. It wouldn't be fair." Mrs Weasley tried to say.

"Why not? I am part of zis family too now, am I not? 'e was like a brother to me. No, 'e _was _my brother! Should I not want to send 'im off in ze best way possible; in the way 'e deserves?" Fleur abruptly burst into tears, and Harry and Ginny exchanged startled looks. Bill stood up, and placed a hand on his wife's arm.

"I don't think Mum meant it like that, Love. I think she just meant that this is a big thing, and it wouldn't be right for just one member of the family to pay for it. And of course we agree that... the funeral should be special." Without warning, Mrs Weasley also began to sob, and threw her arms around her daughter in law and they cried together.

It was too much for Harry. The guilt that had been building up over the past few days hit a peak, and he could no longer handle it. He flung open the back door and sprinted out, ignoring the calls of "Harry!" from the Weasleys. He ran through the garden and the orchard, to the old crumbling broom shed. The rusted hinges protested noisily as he wrenched the door open. He almost expected to see his Firebolt sitting among the Weasley's Cleansweeps, before remembering losing it last summer. Instead, he grabbed Ron's Cleansweep Eleven. Backing out again, he swung a leg over the broom, and kicked off, rocketing into the cloudless sky. The feel of the wind on his face, and the almost instance response of the broom to every movement to turn, dive, soar, was exhilarating, but the tearing feeling in his chest was not healed, only left to split him apart as his thoughts wandered to other things. He looped through the sky, and skimmed through the orchard, weaving in and out of the trees, before shooting back upwards, like a bullet.

"Harry!" A voice yelled from somewhere behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see a flash of red hair, and sped up, flat against the broom, trying to outstrip his pursuer.

"Harry!" The voice called again. "I have no chance of catching you up on a Cleansweep Five, so please just come down before I hex you off that broom!" It was George. Harry almost _fell_ off his broom with shock. George had barely said a word since...

Reluctantly, he dipped his broom downwards, and landed gently on the damp grass. George landed a moment later, his expression unreadable.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

"Flying," Harry shrugged, fighting off the clawing feeling that had returned, tearing at his heart.

"You ran out of the house." George stated, face blank.

"I-" But Harry didn't know what to say.

"Spit it out, Harry." He was glaring now, suddenly angry.

"It's my fault!" Harry roared. George looked furious. "If I had just gone out there, Fred wouldn't be dead! He's dead because of me, and your family just lets me stay in your house, like all this pain you're going through isn't because of m-" Harry stumbled backwards from the blow to his jaw. "What was that fo-" George hit him again and he tripped over, reeling from shock.

"We're _alive_ because of you." George snarled, "And if you think any different than that, then you're an idiot." He turned on his heel and strode away, leaving Harry staring after him, holding a hand to his bloody lip.

* * *

He walked into the kitchen of the Burrow to find Ron, Hermione and Ginny sat around the table. Ginny stood up as he entered.

"There you are- oh! What _happened_ to you?" She cried, catching sight of his split lip.

"Uh, haven't flown in a while," He mumbled his rather lame excuse. None of them seemed convinced, but didn't say anything.

"Why did you-" Ron started to ask, but Hermione cut him off with a glare that Harry was sure could have burnt a hole in something. Harry walked over and took a seat next to Ginny.

"I've been thinking; since Grimmauld Place has been secured, maybe I should move back there, you know, after the funeral..."

"Harry, it's fine having you here, it's no bother."

"Yeah, I know, but I'd like to give your family some space. You two could come too," He addressed Hermione and Ron. Ginny made a small coughing noise. "Well, you can too, Gin', but you probably wouldn't be able to stay; you're not seventeen yet, and I'm sure your Mum would object to it." She scowled.

"That sounds okay," said Hermione, "I would be nice to have space again. It's so weird having peopled around again, after all these months..." Ron and Harry nodded in agreement.

"We'd need to clean it. It'd be like the summer before fifth year all over again." He warned.

"We can use magic this time." Ron reminded him.

"That's true. And I think we should brighten it up. You know, change the colour scheme and such. And I was thinking... Maybe Kreacher will be able to remove Mrs Black's portrait, and the tapestry, if house-elves' magic is different from ours."

"I don't think he'll like that," Hermione began.

"Well, I was going to give him Regulus's room, and say he could keep all that stuff in there..."

Hermione beamed. "Harry, that's a great idea!"

"So when do we break it to Mum?" Ron asked.

"Well, if the funeral is in two days, then I suggest...tonight."

"Tonight? She'll freak!"

"She would freak at any time, the sooner we tell her, the better."

"I guess."

"Right then, we'll tell her at dinner."

The four sat chatting for the next while, before climbing the stairs to their rooms, to begin packing.

* * *

It was a surprisingly warm night, so Mrs Weasley decided that they would eat outside. As Bill and Charlie set up tables in the garden, Harry watched from a distance, sitting on the lawn, remembering that summer all those years ago, when the two brothers staged a war between the tables, ending with one losing a leg, and an extremely irate Percy yelling out of his bedroom window.

Half an hour later they were all sat together around the tables talking good naturedly about the changes at the ministry that were going on; Kingsley was doing a good job, despite only having been in power for four days. The conversation came to a close, a Harry seized his chance.

"Err, Mrs Weasley?"

"Yes, dear?"

"I was thinking about going to Grimmauld place, now that it's been checked."

"Tonight?" Mrs Weasley looked taken aback.

"No, no, not tonight. In a couple of days, maybe."

"I guess that's okay... But you do know it's just fine for you to stay, dear, don't you?"

"Yes, of course Mrs Weasley, it'd just be nice to have my own space."

"I suppose..." She seemed reluctant to let him go.

"Uh, Mum?" Mrs Weasley looked inquisitively at Ron.

"Hermione and I were going to go with Harry."

"Really? I don't think-"

"Mum, I'm of age, and have been for over a year now. I can leave if I want to." She didn't look happy.

"Ronald, we'll talk about this later, okay?" Ron nodded nervously. And the discussion ended, and turned back to lighter subjects, as Charlie started telling stories about the horrors of working with dragons. There was much laughter as he recounted tales about a particularly vicious Peruvian Vipertooth with the rather peculiar name of Vicky. For the first time in years, Harry felt as though some normality was finally returning.


	5. Chapter 5: Reminders

**Chapter 5: Reminders**

"I need my trunk." Harry said aloud, to no one in particular. Ron and Hermione looked up at him from where they sat on Ron's bed.

"Where is it?" Hermione asked.

"Privet Drive. Has Kingsley said anything about my Aunt and Uncle being brought home?"

"I don't think so, no. Why don't we stop off there on our way to Number Twelve?"

"Yeah. I hope the Dursleys aren't there, it would be a bit... awkward, don't you think?" Ron shrugged.

"I suppose."

"Um..." Hermione began, hesitantly. Harry looked at her quizzically. "I need to go to Australia. To bring my parents back."

"Oh yeah..."

"When should we go?" Ron asked.

"Not we, Ronald. Just me."

"No. No way." He told her, firmly.

"They're my parents, Ron!" She stood up, angrily.

"So? There are still Death Eaters out there; I'm not letting you go." He, too, stood up. They glared at each other, arms crossed.

"You're not _letting_ me?" Hermione's hair seemed to crackle with electricity, and she appeared to grow several inches, but Ron refused to back down.

"No, I'm not letting you. It's too dangerous."

"_Too dangerous_?" She all but screeched. "_Too dangerous_? The year we've just had, and you're not going to let me go to _Australia _because you think it's going to be _too dangerous_?" Ron's ears went crimson. Harry decided that now would be a good time to intervene.

"Err, guys, stop." They stopped glowering at each other, and turned to face him, looking as if they had forgotten he was even there.

"Hermione, I think we should go with you. Not-" He cut her off, as she opened her mouth to release her fury on him instead, "-because it won't be safe, but because we know it will be difficult for you, we want to meet your parents properly, and I, personally, want to go to Australia." Hermione's anger seemed to dissipate.

"Well... okay. But we're going to have to go by plane." Harry had never been on a plane, and the prospect was exciting. Ron, however, did not seem to think the same way. He had turned a faint greenish colour.

"What? Those big metal things that fly in the sky?" He asked, trembling slightly.

"Yes, Ronald. And it'll be a long flight, too. About twenty-four hours I think." Ron whimpered. Harry and Hermione exchanged glances, and burst into peals of laughter.

"What?" Demanded Ron, recovering his surly demeanour. Clutching his sides and gasping for air, Harry choked, "You spent the last year hunting down dark objects and destroying them, and fighting Death Eaters, and you're afraid to go on a plane?" before collapsing in stitches again. Ron recrossed his arms, and flopped down onto his bed, an expression of annoyance on his face.

* * *

Harry finished scrubbing the last of the dirty plates, and passed it to Hermione, who rinsed off the suds and passed it to Ron, who roughly dried it and handed it to Ginny, who stowed it away in a cupboard above the sink. They had been working like this for thirty minutes now, in silence.

"Remind me why we didn't use magic for that?" Ron asked, leaning against the kitchen counter, tea towel draped over one shoulder. They all looked at each other.

"No idea," admitted Harry, with the feeling of having wasted half an hour.

"Anyone up for a game of Quidditch?" Ginny suggested.

"Sure, but I don't have a broom..." Harry suddenly became very interested in a hangnail on the side of his thumb.

"Well, I can use Charlie's old broom, and you can use mine. It's only an old Clean Sweep 7, I'm afraid."

"That's fine. I suppose I should get a new broom at some point." And a new owl, he thought.

They trooped out of the back door, Hermione with a couple of books tucked under her arm, one Harry recognised as Dumbledore's copy of Tales of Beedle the Bard.

"Reading it again?" Ron asked, incredulously.

"No," She held out the other book, "I'm comparing the original to the translation I found in your living room."

They strode across the grass to the paddock. Hermione kept walking, so as to find a nice spot to sit. After a moment's hesitation, Ron followed her. Ginny and Harry exchanged glances.

The door of the shed opened with an uncomfortable metal screech. Ginny disappeared into the darkness. After a moment of silence, there was a loud clatter, and a shriek of pain.

"Ginny?"

"Ow, blast it!" She cursed. Harry lit his wand and entered the gloom of the broom shed. Ginny stood by the back wall, clutching her arm, several old cobweb covered brooms lying at her feet.

"What happened?"

"Must have caught my arm on a nail or something. I'm fine, honest."

"Let me see."

"No, Harry, it's fine, don't worry."

"Let me see." He repeated. Reluctantly, she held out her arm. A jagged line of red crossed the pale flesh, and a couple of trickles of blood wound their way down to her wrist. Luckily, it wasn't too deep.

"_Episkey_." He muttered. The wound began to heal, flesh and skin knitting back together, until all that remained of the cut was a thin white line. Silently, Harry siphoned off the rest of the blood, before releasing her. Ginny examined her arm.

"Thanks."

"Sure." Harry directed his wand light at the crumbling stone wall. Sure enough, a jagged, rusty nail stuck out from between the chunks of rock. He directed his attention back to the brooms, which Ginny was hastily picking off the floor. He grabbed a couple and propped them against the wall again.

"I'm, uh, just going to ask Ron something," Ginny suddenly gabbled, before dropping the broomstick she had been holding, and dashing out of the shed. Harry watched her go, bemused, and leant down to pick up the broom she'd dropped. A scrap of parchment had been spell-o-taped to the handle.

_F. Weasley_

Harry's stomach flipped, and his heart seemed to be beating in his throat. He felt as though something was pressing on the backs of his eyes. Hastily, he rested the Cleansweep 5 against the wall, and grabbed Ron's Cleansweep 11, Ginny's Comet 260, and a Cleansweep 7, labelled _C. Weasley_. Fumbling with the three broomsticks, he ran to catch up with Ginny.

* * *

As it was late spring, there were no apples around to use as quaffles, and Hermione refused to transfigure rocks for them, telling them that if they needed them that badly, they should do the transfiguration themselves.

They sat in a circle on the grass, wondering what to do.

"Well this sucks," grumbled Ron.

"Oh shut up." snapped Ginny.

"Guys..." Harry began, frustrated with their bickering.

"Gnomes!" He shouted, suddenly.

"What?"

"Gnomes!"

"What about them, Harry?" Ginny asked, tiredly.

"Well, the garden needs degnoming, right? You haven't been living here for over two months now; it's about time you got rid of them." He stated matter-of-factly. A light seemed to go on above Ron's head as he cottoned on to what Harry was suggesting.

"Yes!" He cried.

"WHAT?" Ginny demanded. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"We can use the gnomes as quaffles! We can throw them over the wall to score a goal, the further the better. We're killing two birds with one stone, so to speak." Ron and Harry stood up, grabbing their respective brooms. They kicked off the ground and sped off back towards the house. Within seconds, Ginny was behind them.

"You guys are mental!" She yelled through the wind that whistled past their ears.

"I know!" Harry shouted back. When they neared the house, he went into a plunging dive, targeting a gnome that was pottering along the little stone path of the back garden. He snatched it up by its potato like head, swerved, and sped back to the orchard, Ron and Ginny hot on his heels. Ginny tried to snatch the struggling gnome away from him, but he dodged out of the way and continued to race towards to crumbling stone wall that marked the end of the Burrow's land. On reaching it, he pulled his arm back and let the gnome fly. It tumbled through the air, and fell onto the grass a good fifty feet away with a soft thump.

"GOAL!" Harry roared.

They took turns to be the gnome fetcher, fighting off the other two acting as chasers on an opposing team to score goals. Having to avoid the gnomes' sharp teeth just added to the challenge of the game.

"Well, it'll be a while before they come back." said Ron, panting heavily as they tramped back to where Hermione sat under an apple tree, pouring over the two books.

"Gin, have you asked your mum about staying with us at Grimmauld Place for a couple of nights?"

"Uh, yeah. She's not too happy about it, but she'll let me go. I'll make sure of it," she added, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Ron?"

"Err... she can't really stop me. Anyway, it'll only be for a few days, surely; we're going to Australia on Thursday."

"What?" Cried Ginny, "Why? And why wasn't I told?"

"We need to go and get 'Mione's parents. She altered their memories and sent them to Australia to keep them safe. Now that the war's over, we're going to get them back."

"Can I-?"

"I don't think so, Gin. We'll be back in about a week." Harry promised her, pulling her closer, but she tugged herself away and stood up. Without a word, she turned on her heel and stalked away.

"Ginny?" Harry called after her. "Should I...?" He asked Hermione.

"I'd leave her for now, if I were you," she advised, her eyes still glued to her book. Harry continued to watch the retreating figure of his girlfriend, her hair dancing like flames in the sunlight.

And so returned the silence that they had all worked so diligently to repress, the silence that seemed to throb in their ears, pulse in the air around them, turning their thoughts away from all distractions, pointing them towards tomorrow. Tomorrow. They didn't want to think the two words, but they was there, taunting them, the words that made it all so real. _Fred's_ _funeral_.

It was the reason behind the washing up, the packing, the bickering, games of Quidditch that they put more effort into than they would ever have put into a unimportant match, a match that didn't mean anything. But it did mean something. It was the reason why Hermione refused to look up from her books; to hide her red eyes, though she couldn't hide the tears that wet the pages, splashing over the old paper.

* * *

"Ron," Harry shook him again. "Ron!"

"Mmwhat?" His friend mumbled, rolling over and tugged the Chudley Cannons duvet with him, wrapping himself up even tighter in the orange spread.

"You need to get up... It starts in a few hours." Ron's grumbling stopped. He lay still, but Harry knew he was now awake. Quietly, he slipped back out of the room.

* * *

The atmosphere in the Weasleys' kitchen had never felt bleaker. The days spent planning it were nothing compared to this. Mrs Weasley shuffled around the kitchen; head bowed, and was constantly overturning things, spilling drinks. Mr Weasley's face was grey, and he repeatedly checked his watch. Percy and Charlie were staring into space with morose expressions, Charlie seemed to be drawing something in the air with his index finger, and Percy was drumming his fingers on the table. Ginny sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, rocking slightly and blinking rapidly, a mug of cold tea clutched in her hands. Unsurprisingly, George was not present. His bedroom door had been firmly shut when Harry passed it on his way downstairs. He wasn't sure what to do. He couldn't remember feeling less like eating. Timidly, he took the seat beside Ginny, clasping his hands in his lap.

"Oh, Harry dear, you're up." Mrs Weasley noticed his appearance at the table. Her voice shook as she spoke. She laid a plate of toast and bacon in front of him – at least, Harry thought it was toast and bacon; it had been charred almost beyond recognition.

* * *

The weather couldn't have less suited the occasion if it started raining buttercups. The sun danced overhead, and it was comfortably warm. Sparrows darted through the air, looping and diving, singing all the while. Harry had changed into black dress robes, and sat on the wall of the paddock, waiting for people to arrive, to get this all over and done with. A twig cracked behind him, and he glanced back to see Ron and Hermione approaching. They sat down on either side of him, and silently they watched as the first of the guests began to trickle through the gate. It was going to be a long day.


	6. Chapter 6: Don't Call It That

**Chapter 6: Don't Call It That**

It hurt more than the now purple bruise spread over his chest. It throbbed and burned inside his heart, each beat coming with an aching sense of loss. A simple casket made of oak stood before him, and to Harry, nothing surrounding it existed. He couldn't hear anything above the roaring and pounding of blood in his ears, and he couldn't take his eyes off the pale wood panelling in front of him. Vaguely he knew that he was surrounded by the Weasleys, their family members, people from Hogwarts. A huge amount of Gryffindors and members of Dumbledore's Army had come to pay their respects. Lee Jordan, Alicia Spinnet, Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell, Oliver Wood being the expected ones, but so too came Dean, Seamus, Neville, Luna and many others that Harry couldn't put names to. Several people that Harry recognised as old Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had made an appearance as well. There were well over seventy people in attendance, including Aunt Muriel. The Weasleys had been extremely worried about inviting her, due to the less than tactful comments she usually made, but so far, she had not uttered a single word.

Despite Percy and Molly's wishes to have the same man from the memorial take the service, Charlie and Ron had adamantly argued against it. George had offered no input in the matter. So another wizard who specialised in this area was called upon, though Ron still demanded to have someone who had participated in the fight to speak. Kingsley Shacklebolt, therefore, would be taking the service. _Service_. That's what everybody had been calling it. Harry himself, who had argued since speaking to Dumbledore at the age of twelve that fear of a name created fear of the thing itself, refused to say what it really was.

Kingsley stood at the front, leaning heavily against the golden engraved lectern that Fleur had insisted they acquire for the day, as if waiting for the utterly silent guests to settle down. His expression was sunken, tired. Sighing heavily, he began to speak.

"Fred Weasley. I am personally honoured to have known that man, even if only for a couple of years. Fred Weasley had many of the qualities that I personally favour: a good sense of humour, daring, loyalty, and most importantly, bravery. From the age of seventeen he was clamouring to become a member of the Order of the Phoenix, wanting to play his own part in the battle against Voldemort. A battle that would, eventually, take his life." Staring at his hands, Harry caught a glimpse of Ginny beside him. Her eyes glistened, and tears rolled silently down her cheeks. It was all Harry could do to stop them from forming in his own.

"From what I've heard about Fred's time in school, it was mostly spent doing anything other than schoolwork," A couple of people chuckled, "But, contrary to his OWL results, he was a very skilled wizard, as proved to us by Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, along with his twin, George. Their ingenious ideas brought much laughter to us in pretty dark times, but both seemed to enjoy taunting Death Eaters a little too much, with their vibrant advertising of 'the constipation sensation that's gripping the nation!' Even though the shop was eventually ransacked by Death Eaters, they continued to run the business by owl order, from the back rooms of their Great Aunt's house. Courage and determination rarely comes greater than that." Kingsley paused and looked around at the people gathered before him. The same expression was on everyone's face. An expression of whole hearted agreement.

"Fred Weasley is someone this world will miss dearly. Tears should be shed for his loss, and he should be remem-"

"Stop." Ron had stood up, and was looking straight at the minister. "Please, all this stuff you're saying, it's great, all true, but it's not right." He looked around at the faces turned towards him uncertainly. "It's not Fred," he finished quietly. A few people were nodding slightly. Ron looked at George.

"And you," he said. "You're his twin! His best friend, and even though you _knew _he wouldn't want this, you just sat back and let it happen! For Merlin's sake, George! He wouldn't want you to be acting like this; he'd _hate _it. He'd never want us to be like this," Ron gestured at the tearstained faces of friends and family. "Or have you all forgotten who Fred was in the time he's been gone? If he were here he'd be telling us that life goes on, and that we should stop all this moping! And if anyone here is blaming themselves," he looked directly at Harry, who tried not to shrink away from the icy glare he was given, "Then he would personally tell you to stop stealing his thunder. So would Fred Weasley want a drab funeral, on which a ridiculous amount of money was spent, where people wore black dress robes, and sobbed into handkerchiefs? Last summer, at Bill's wedding, he said that when he got married, everyone could wear whatever they wanted, and there would be none of this fancy tent stuff. Well, he's never going to get married, but the least we can do is send him off in a way that he would have approved of. And George, if you're not going to see sense, then I'm hoping Lee will. Lee?"

"Definitely." called the twin's dread-locked friend, standing up. Ron raised his wand into the air, an expression of intense concentration on his face. From the house there was the sound of breaking glass; Ron winced slightly. Into the tent flew about a dozen multi coloured objects that Harry instantly recognized at Wildfire Whiz-bangs. Lee too brought out his wand, and began igniting them each in turn. Within seconds the area under the canopy was filled with colourful sparks as the fireworks exploded. Several of the shocking pink catherine wheels that Harry remembered from his fifth year whirled through the air, accompanied by their usual shrill whistling. The profanity-spelling sparklers danced around Aunt Muriel, who was loudly protesting to such nonsense. Silver stars trailed behind large rockets, and several smaller versions of the fire breathing dragons snapped their flaming jaws at the open mouthed guests. Everyone was getting out of their seats, staring in awe and surprise at the vibrant display. Percy and Muriel looked outraged, but the rest of the Weasleys were beaming through their tears (save Mrs Weasley, whose expression was unreadable, and George, who was staring unseeingly at the large oak box before him) as if they had suddenly come to their senses.

The fireworks began to move off towards the deep freshly dug hole in the ground, with the tombstone reading 'Fred Weasley, April 1st 1978 – May 2nd 1998, Loving brother and son' sat in the ground at the head of it. Harry stood behind Ron and Hermione, who were the first to reach it. Ron leant over and whispered something to her. Hermione lifted her wand and pointed it at the stone. Much in the same way that Harry had done so for Dobby, but far more elegantly, the words "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." carved themselves into the marble.

"He would be glad you did that," Harry muttered quietly to his friends. They smiled in response.

Bill joined them by the headstone, and the rest of the Weasleys soon joined, Aunt Muriel supported by a rather annoyed Mr Weasley. With a flick of his wand, the wooden casket lifted itself off the ornate table it lay on, and drifted over to them. Tears were returning to the guests' eyes, welling up and spilling over. They didn't want to say goodbye, not before they had even come to terms with what had happened. It still felt like a bad dream.

The coffin was lowered gently into the grave. Harry put and arm around Ginny; she seemed almost unable to hold herself up any longer. Mrs Weasley began sobbing in earnest, and tears slid silently down Fleur's beautiful face. The same gut wrenching, chest splitting pain that had been haunting Harry since Sunday roared back into full flare, and this time he couldn't hold back the wetness in his eyes. He couldn't be gone...

They each took handfuls of earth, Harry squeezing his until it had compressed itself into a mould of the inside of his fist. Kingsley spoke a few words, but Harry wasn't listening; they seemed so unimportant.

"Harry," Ginny's cracked voice whispered in his ear. Harry glanced around. Dirt sprinkled the lid of the casket. Harry lifted his arm, and let his handful trickle into the grave. He turned his head away as the earth at the side of the grave was lifted up, and poured in.

Silence descended as everyone paid their final respects to their fallen friend.

"We won't mourn his death, not now," Ron spoke in a hoarse voice. "Let's celebrate his life."

"And a great life it was," Lee commented, to a few calls of "Hear, hear!" Chatter broke out again, a mixture of joyous and despondent. Harry glanced over his shoulder to find George. Eventually he found him. He was pushing his way back through the crowd, head down. Harry tapped Ron on the shoulder and jerked his head in his brother's direction. Ron looked concerned, but with a slight shake of his head indicated that talking to George was going to have to wait until later.

* * *

Harry decided that it was probably time to head in. The party was still in full flare, but he felt that for him, it was finished. After hugging Luna goodbye and swiftly kissing Ginny goodnight, he headed back to the house.

Quietly shutting the backdoor behind him, he crept across the kitchen before halting in his tracks. There were raised voices coming from the living room.

"So why did you leave?" Ron demanded.

"I don't know, Ron!"

"Yeah, you do! Quit lying, George!" There was a sigh of exasperation, and is his mind Harry saw George running his hands through his hair.

"It's none of your business!" he yelled.

"You're my brother, it _is_ my business." Ron snapped back.

"You're too nosy, you know that?"

"And you're too closed off. You think you're the only one suffering in this family? The way you're acting, you would think that you were the only one who's lost a sibling, or even a son." George stayed silent. "I thought that you, of all of us, would be able to fight for him, know what he would have wanted for his own funeral, speak out. Obviously, I was wrong." Footsteps sounded across the wooden floor, and Harry shrank back into the shadows, holding his breath. Just as the footsteps reached the living room door, George spoke again.

"You could do it. I was his twin, we were like... two parts of the same person, and I couldn't do it. I couldn't say what I thought should be done, what I knew he'd want, but you managed. You even put that engraving on the stone... How could you do it, and me not be able to?" He asked weakly.

"Because I knew you wouldn't be able to. I don't blame you for it, George, I really don't. But do you honestly think that separating yourself off from the rest of us is going to help anything? You need us, and we need you. Night, George."

Harry remained with his back pressed against the wall as Ron retreated up to his bedroom, soon after followed by George.

Ron was right; they all needed each other.


	7. Chapter 7: Number 12, Grimmauld Place

**Chapter 7: Number 12, Grimmauld Place**

"Right, I'm all packed." Harry dusted off his hands and turned to Ron, who was draped his bed, head hanging over the edge. He was surrounded by a heap of clothes, a small pile of which were neatly stacked and folded. It was easy to tell what Hermione called packing, and had helped Ron with, and what he had done himself. The sloth like form grunted, but made no move to pull himself up and get back to work. Unfortunately, Hermione chose that moment to enter.

"_Ron?" _She exclaimed. "Have you even _begun_ packing?"

"Yes! Look!" Ron had hastily pulled himself up when she entered, and now gestured at the garments strewn over his duvet.

"You call that packing?"

"It's Ron, Hermione." Harry reminded her.

"Hey!"

"He has a pretty good point."

"I guess," Ron admitted. He turned to Hermione. "Hermione, will y-"

"No I will not, Ronald. You can do it yourself," she snapped, before turning on her heel and marching out of the room.

"This isn't third year anymore; you're not getting her to do your work for you."

"Yeah, but you'd think that now..." He trailed off, ears crimson.

"Now that you're going out? Or whatever this relationship between the two of you is. What is going on at the moment, anyway?"

"I don't know..."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't think I'm ready, Harry. I was before, or maybe I thought it was. It's all just bad timing. After everything that's happened... I don't know, I guess I just..."

"Need time to adjust?"

"Yeah," Ron hastily busied himself with folding a pair of robes, hiding his expression from Harry.

"You would have thought you would know how to do a simple folding charm by now, surely? You've been watching you mum pack your trunk for school for years," Harry commented, swiftly changing the subject.

"Oh, yeah, right." With a flick of his wand, the t-shirt Ron was holding began to fold itself. Charming the rest of the clothes, he sat back down on the edge of the bed.

"Won't it be really weird going back? The memories from that place aren't great, are they?"

"Everything's going to remind us of the past years, we can't run from it all, or we wouldn't have anything left. Bad memories or not, what happened over these seven years was my life." Harry banished the now folded clothes on Ron's bed into the open boxes lying around the room.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

They trooped down to the kitchen, their boxes hovering behind them. As they reached they reached the first landing, the sound of arguing came drifting up towards.

"No, Ginny! You can go with them and help them settle in, but there is no way I am letting you stay the night!" Ron and Harry exchanged glances.

"But why not? It's one night, Mum! I'll be in a room with Hermione, and it's only three months until I'm seventeen!"

"Yes, three months until you're an adult, so you're still under my care until that time."

"Under your care? I don't need protection anymore, none of us do!"

"He-Voldemort- may be dead, but there are a lot of people who agreed with his ideas still out there!"

"And if they decide they want me in particular dead, I'll be just as safe at Grimmauld Place as I will be here. It's just one night." There was a pause, and Harry wondered whether or not now was a good time to intervene.

"Alright, fine. But one night, mind!"

"Yes, Mum!" Ginny called over her shoulder, appearing at the bottom of the stairs. She grinned at Harry as she leapt up them two at a time.

"Gin', if your Mrs Weasley doesn't like the idea of you staying..."

"Harry, I just spent the last fifteen minutes getting her to let me go, and she's fine with it!"

"Yeah, but-" He stopped, cowering under the glare she shot him, before pushing past him and Ron, sprinting up her bedroom.

"Never argue with a female Weasley, that's rule number one round here. I thought you'd worked that much out by now!" Ron told him, incredulously.

"If it's between Ginny and your mum, I'd take Ginny."

"A choice you will one day learn to regret," Ron muttered under his breath.

"All packed?" Mrs Weasley asked as they entered the kitchen, her air light, but her smile a little too tense.

"Yep," Ron answered lowering his boxes to the floor next to Hermione's stack, each box labelled in her neat script of its contents.

"When are you three-" Mrs Weasley paused, brow furrowed, "four- leaving?" Harry glanced at Ron.

"As soon as Hermione gets down here, I suppose," he shrugged.

"Right, right." At that moment, Hermione and Ginny appeared at the foot of the stairs.

"Or now, I suppose..."

Hermione pulled her beaded purse out from her pocket and began banishing all the boxes into it. She straightened up again and looked around.

"Are we ready?"

"It doesn't matter if we've forgotten anything, so yeah, I think so," said Harry. They each hugged Mrs Weasley and headed out the back door in the direction of the gate. Once they were past the protective boundaries, they disapparated.

* * *

It hadn't changed. The small patch of grass in the middle of the street looked less parched than it had last summer, but the buildings remained as ugly and imposing as ever. Harry looked at the numbers on the front doors of the two in front of him.

"Eleven...thirteen? Where's-" he stopped short in the middle of taking a step forward. The buildings before him were moving, shifting, the same way they had done the first time Harry had seen Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Uncertainly, he walked towards the house, the others right behind him.

The inside of the house was how they had left it, save for a thin layer of dust on the picture frames and shelves. Hermione instantly dashed upstairs to put everyone's boxes in their room. They had decided that Harry would stay in Sirius' room, Ron in the room he and Harry had stayed in their fifth year, and Hermione in the room she and Ginny had shared.

Harry sat down on the edge of Sirius' bed, and looked around at the poster-plastered walls, the still, yellowed muggle models frozen, posing and smiling. A floorboard by the door creaked slightly, and Harry turned.

"Why do you think they left everything as it was? Surely the Death Eaters should have destroyed it, like all the other places they'd raided?" he asked Hermione, who stood leaning against the doorframe.

"Pure-blood residence," She shrugged, "Sirius may have been part of the order, and Regulus turned traitor, but the Black family was still old and respected. They probably looked for any clue, but if they didn't find anything, they had no reason to pull the place apart."

"I suppose…"

"It was us they were looking for, and once we disappeared, they didn't really have much use for this place, I suppose."

Suddenly, there was a loud yell from down the corridor. Harry leapt to his feet, glancing, shocked at Hermione, whose expression must have mirrored his own. They sprinted headlong, wands out towards the source of the cry.

Ron was standing on his bed, his back pressed firmly against the wall. His wand, dropped, rolled across the floor. For a couple of very long seconds, nobody moved, Harry and Hermione's eyes flicking around the room for Ron's attacker. Keeping his wand raised, Harry asked, "What happened?"

Whimpering, Ron raised a shaking finger and pointed towards the corner of the room.

Harry squinted. "What?" Still cowering against the wall, Ron jabbed his finger in the direction of the corner again.

Harry lowered his wand, and Hermione shot him a quizzical look. Bending down, he took a step towards the hairy black thing crouched between the dresser and the wall. Ron whined. He looked up at his friend, biting his lip, trying to suppress the loud laugh that threatened to burst from his chest.

"What happened?" Ginny appeared in the doorway, looking worried. Hermione shrugged. Another step forward, and Harry couldn't take it anymore. He broke down into hysterics, just managing to keep himself upright by bracing his hands against his knees.

"You are such," Harry said, gasping, "an idiot." Crossing the final few steps slightly unsteadily, still wracked with laughter, he scooped up the spider, and tossed it out the open window.

"Oh, Ron..." Hermione shook her head, sounding falsely disappointed, not quite able to hide her own amusement. Ginny just raised an eyebrow, as if this occurrence was almost to be expected, turned on her heel in a very Mrs Weasley like fashion, and strutted back to whatever she had been doing before this particular interruption.


	8. Chapter 8: Kreacher's Outburst

**Chapter 8: Kreacher's Outburst**

"Where do we start?" Harry looked despairingly around the living room.

"Uh, well... I guess it depends on what you want to do with it," reasoned Hermione from where she sat on one of the moth-eaten sofas, legs tucked beneath her.

"New wall paper, new rugs, new sofas, fireplace, lamps," he listed, mentally checking each item off as he glanced around the room again, "And definitely new paintings," he grimaced at a particularly foul piece of artwork, depicting a crazed looking horse, rearing up onto its hind legs, a large red slash across its chest, blood spattering its white coat. What appeared to be its muggle rider lay still on the muddy ground, and a tall man with sallow skin and hollow eyes stood before the stallion, brandishing a wand.

"Is that all?" Ron asked sarcastically.

"Probably not," he sighed, "we need an interior decorator."

"Oh!" Hermione suddenly exclaimed, clapping a hand to her forehead, "I meant to get some books on cleaning spells from your mum before we left, Ron, but I completely forgot!"

"Never fear! I got them!" Ginny suddenly piped up from where she had flopped down on the hearth rug, "I think Mum assumed we had no idea what we were doing."

"She was right," said Harry with dismay.

* * *

They worked all through the day, each assigned to different rooms. Neither Harry nor Ron trusted their abilities enough to use the spell books, leaving Hermione to complete her assigned rooms in little over an hour each. Harry scrubbed at the floorboards of the living room with a dilute solution of Magical Mess Remover, and then proceeded to strip away faded green wallpaper. Finally, after dusting the ornaments he wished to keep (chucking the ones he did not into a cardboard box by his feet to give to Kreacher as he did so) and the bookshelves, he set alight the shredded wall paper that lay in a heap on the floor. Sweating, he trooped out into the hall, and looked up at the curtained picture frame that held Mrs Black.

"Gunna call Kreacher?" Harry jumped at the voice. Ron stood behind him, equally sweaty and flushed from the hours of physical labour.

"Mmhm. Kreacher!" With a loud _crack_, the old dishevelled house elf appeared right before Harry, making him step back in surprise.

"Master," Kreacher bowed low, is nose barely above the floorboards.

"Kreacher, what can you do about this?" Harry asked, gesturing at the painting.

"Do about it?" the elf asked, confused, looking between his master and the black velvet curtains.

"As in, what can you do about removing it from my wall?" As Harry finished his sentence, the most profound look of shock and outrage twisted Kreacher's features into a grimace not dissimilar to a gargoyle's.

"Remove it, master?" he spat.

"Well, see, it's stuck on with a permanent sticking charm, so I can't remove it. But your magic is different, so I thought maybe you would be able to remove it. How else are we supposed to put it up in your new room?"

"You are giving it to m-" the elf began, shock pushing all signs of anger out of his expression, "New...room?"

"Oh, yeah, well, none of us will be using Regulus' old bedroom, so I thought you could have it. Only if you want it, of course..." Harry grinned. To his surprise, the elf began to sob. The curtains covering Mrs Black's painting flung themselves aside, and the woman began to scream obscenities. Harry quickly dashed to pull the curtains back across her. Ron grabbed Kreacher and dragged him down the stairs to the kitchen. Harry followed and shut the door behind him.

"Oh dear," Ron whispered in his ear, "You've overwhelmed him. Maybe we should give him a while to recover himself."

"Yeah. Erm, Kreacher, when you're done, there's also a box of stuff I don't want that belongs to the house in the living room. You can have that too." Harry said to him, before hurrying back up to the hall. As he closed the kitchen door again, he heard the sobs increase in volume behind him.

* * *

Hermione had offered to make them all dinner once she had finished cleaning the kitchen, and promptly at seven thirty, she began to serve them steaming bowls of pasta alla carbonara. At that moment, the doorbell also rang, and Mrs Black's portrait began to shriek; Kreacher had not yet recovered himself enough to remove it. Hermione dropped spoon she had been using to serve the food, and Ron swore as he was splattered with pasta sauce. Harry fell backwards over his chair as he scrambled to go answer the door. As he descended, his knee collided with the underside of the table, which jerked upwards, sending the sauce pan full of tagliatelle souring into the air. The pasta was thrown high into the air, and hit the low ceiling with a _splat_, while the pan fell back to earth with a resounding _clang_, and the sound of one of the black floor tiles cracking. The lid of the pan dropped onto Ginny's foot and she howled with pain. Silence reigned, except for the sound of the pan lid spinning on the floor, until that, too, stilled.

Glancing briefly at each other, they all leapt for the stairs. Once in the hall, Hermione wrenched the curtains back over Mrs Black, ignoring her blood-curdling screams of _"Mudblood scum!"_, and Harry yanked open the front door, not quite able to rid his expression of the exasperated _"why can't I just have a normal day for once in my life?" _look before coming face to face with Kingsley Shacklebolt. The man looked a little puzzled, no doubt having heard all the clanging from downstairs. It only became more so after glancing at the pasta covered Ron, frazzled looking Hermione, Harry's askew glasses, and Ginny massaging her bruised toes.

"Is this a bad time?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"No, no," Hermione assured him, coming to the door.

"You plan to leave on Thursday, yes?"

"Yes,"

"And you wish to travel there by plane?"

"Yes,"

"It's quite a long flight, are you sure-"

"Yes, minister, quite sure. I don't want to cause the ministry any trouble. I'll be paying for the tickets, too."

"Miss Granger," Kingsley began to argue, when he was interrupted by a loud _splat._ The pasta had finally detached itself from the ceiling, and had fallen, landing slap bang in the centre of the table, right in front of Kingsley. He stared at the heap for a moment, and then up at the slightly damp patch on the ceiling. "Did you cook that?" He asked Hermione. She nodded. "I commend you; you seem to have managed to get that pasta perfectly al dente. Mine has never managed to stick to the wall or the ceiling for more than a couple of seconds." All four of them stared at their Minister for Magic, stunned.

" Anyway, where was I? Ah yes, you three have done so much, you can at least let the ministry handle the cost of the flight."

"But I can afford it, so I don't see why I need to take money from you that you could be spending on rebuilding this country." Kingsley considered her for a moment.

"How long are you going for?"

"Two weeks, maybe three weeks."

"Three weeks!" Ginny exclaimed, furiously, "You said you would only be gone one!"

"Gin, It takes over a day to get there, and once I'm there, I need to find my parents, get them to trust me, reverse their memories, actually tell them what's been going on over the past few years, as I've pretty much kept them in the dark, and then they'll have to wrap up their lives in Australia, pack up their stuff, and come back here. And I'd quite like to spend some time in Australia, too. You know, see the sights, that kind of stuff." Hermione explained. Ginny just huffed and crossed her arms.

"I want to see Australia, too." She whined.

"Ginny, am I right in saying that you're not yet seventeen?" Kingsley asked, kindly. Reluctantly, she nodded.

"Then it would be up to your parents to decide whether or not to let you go, and knowing your mother, I don't think they would. Three weeks isn't that long. Focus on your studies. Actually," Kingsley turned back to the other three, "speaking of studies, have you three considered what you plan to do next year?" Harry glanced at the other two, unsure of what to say. Ron was shaking his head, but Hermione seemed to have some idea of what she wanted to do, but after looking at him and Ron, bit her lip.

"I don't know, but... I don't think I can go back to Hogwarts," said Harry, regretfully.

"Same," Ron agreed.

"I remember hearing that you want to become an Auror, Harry. Are you still interested in going down that career path?" Harry nodded without thinking, and then stopped.

"Well, I'd like to, but I don't have any N.E. so I don't see how that's possible now."

To his shock and confusion, Kingsley laughed.

"Harry, after what you've spent the last year, in fact, last few years doing, do you honestly think you aren't intelligently equipped or experienced enough to work as an Auror?"

He thought about this.

"Yes, well... no, but I don't think it's _fair_ for me to just go into becoming an Auror, when everyone else who's actually qualified to try has had to do so much work towards it."

"Harry, not much of your own life has been fair, in the traditional sense. I think it's only fair to you that you get this opportunity. The same applies to you two, Ron and Hermione, if you want it."

"Really?" Ron asked, shocked. "Wow, cool."

"Actually..." Hermione bit her lip again, "I want to go back to school," she almost whispered.

"Then that can be arranged, too." Kingsley amended, "Now, I'm sorry that I won't be joining you for dinner," he glanced once again at the sorry pasta pile, "but I have dinner arrangements with your family, Ron and Ginny. I suppose I'll see you three when you're back."

* * *

They sat in the eerily bare sitting room, by the fire. Harry lay back on the rug, Ginny's head on his stomach, and the other two sitting close together on the couch, Ron's large hand wrapped around Hermione's. The room was silent, save for the crackling of the fire.

"Today was nice," Hermione half whispered, sighing happily.

"Are you kidding me? Today was bloody chaos!"

"Ron!" Hermione scolded, slapping his arm.

"Come on, Hermione! Packing, Ginny and mum arguing, that sodding great spider, spending the day _cleaning_," he pulled a face, "and that disastrous dinner!"

"Hmph."

"He has a point," Ginny mumbled sleepily from the floor, curling into Harry.

"So what are we going to do between now and Thursday, then?" her boyfriend asked, pressing his nose into her hair. Ron shifted slightly uncomfortably and averted his gaze.

"Clean and pack," Hermione replied brightly. Harry and Ron groaned.

"Fine, don't, we'll just keep this house in its pureblood frenzied state, shall we? I think all the Slytherin black and green is beginning to grow on me, and the dark arts stuff could really come in useful some day," she huffed.

"Okay, okay. Surely we could just get Kreacher to do all this-" Ron began to say, but was silenced under Hermione's icy glare. "So, uh, cleaning and packing it is." He forced a slightly nervous smile onto his face, while inching slowly away from her. Harry laughed, and then glanced down at Ginny. She was sound asleep.

"We should go to bed," he suggested to the other to, shifting himself into a sitting position, Ginny's head supported on his shoulder.

"Hmmm, you're probably right," Hermione agreed, yawning and pulling herself to her feet, stretching as she did so. She offered a hand to Ron, and helped pull him up. Hand in hand, they headed out of the room.

"Gin," Harry whispered, kissing her forehead softly, "Gin, it's late, come on, let's get to bed." She moaned slightly in objection to being disturbed, and shifted herself in his arms. He chuckled.

"Come on," he said again, wrapping an arm around her waist and standing them both up. She blinked blearily, and he began to walk them back upstairs.

Their rooms were at opposite ends of the landing, and he turned to take her to hers, but she stopped him.

"No," she whispered, a glint in her eye, all traces of tiredness gone.

"Gin..." Harry looked nervously at the door to Ron's room.

"Come on, Harry," she pleaded, taking his hand and pulling him towards his own room. He looked at her for a long moment, before following her. He spared one last look at Ron's room, before quietly closing the door behind him.


	9. Chapter 9: Persuasion

**Chapter 9: Persuasion**

Harry turned, and barely had time to register what was happening before Ginny's lips came crashing down on his. One of her hands slid up his chest, and the other knotted in his hair. After a moment's hesitation, his primal instincts took over; arms slipping around her and pulling her closer. The doorknob was pressing uncomfortably into his back but he barely noticed. It was only when Ginny's lips began to kiss a heated path to his throat that any kind of coherent thought returned.

"Gin, stop." The words were rough and husky; barely audible. Whether she heard him or not, she continued tracing a line between his pulse point and his collar bone, making his heart thump erratically against his ribcage.

"Ginny," he repeated breathlessly, with a little more resolution, "we've got to stop."

"Why?" she whispered seductively against his skin, moving to nibble a new path between his jaw and his ear.

"Because it's late, your brother is just down the corridor, and will kill us when he finds out, you promised your mum you would stay in Hermione's room, I only just got back, and we decided we would take this slowly." Harry clenched his hands into fists on her warm back, trying to stay focused.

"So? Ron will only kill us _if_ he find out, which he won't, because Hermione has enough common sense to keep her mouth shut, and the same applies to my _dear_ mother," she touched her hot tongue lightly to his skin, knowing it wouldn't be long until he cracked.

"Yeah, but-" he didn't get any further. Ginny brought her mouth back to his. Something almost animal seemed to play behind the rhythm of her lips; something unfamiliar and different that drove out everything but the hot, electric sensation that roared through his blood like adrenaline. Ginny opened her mouth slightly, and ran the tip of her tongue along his bottom lip with a soft moan. Harry's resolve melted. He pushed away from the door, forcing them tightly together and plunged his hands into her glorious hair. He backed her roughly into the side of his bed, forcing her to sit. Without breaking the kiss, he pushed her backwards and crawled over her, one knee in between her legs. She hissed as his fingers played over the exposed skin between the hem of her t-shirt and her jeans, leaving a trail of goose bumps.

His hand slipped under her shirt, and she twitched slightly.

"Ticklish," she giggled against his mouth. He chuckled, and continued to skim his hand across her stomach and ribs.

Each moment that passed between them caused any remaining rational thought to drip from his mind. Everything was just _her_. Her, her hands, lips, the same flowery smell of her hair that he recognised from sixth year, all taking over everything he knew and blurring it all together into now, and this, and everything and nothing at the same time.

* * *

The door flew open with a crash that seemed to shake the heavens. Harry's eyes flew open, and in an attempt to roll over to see who the intruder was, he misjudged his distance from the edge of the mattress, and hit the floor with a heavy _thump. _The pain of the fall was quickly forgotten under the livid expression of Ron Weasley, who seemed to fill the doorway, waves of rage rolling off him, a muscle in his jaw ticking. The blood drained from Harry's face.

"Ginny, leave," Ron's voice was low, but the menace the boiled under the surface of it made Harry sincerely hope that Ginny was not in an argumentative mood this morning. From behind him he heard her scramble out of the bed. Harry thought the fact that she was still fully clothed would calm Ron down, but his fists just ball up, his muscles tensed. As Ginny hurried past him out of the door, Harry noticed Hermione cowering behind Ron. She was very pale in the morning light shining, and was anxiously biting at her bottom lip. She glanced at him and mouthed, "_Sorry,"_

Ron seemed to be having difficulty controlling his anger long enough to speak, so using the bad frame as support, Harry pulled himself to his feet.

"Listen, Ron, it's not-"

"It's not what it looks like? Don't-" he paused, jaw working furiously, "It's everything it looks like, Harry!" He suddenly roared. Harry flinched, not expecting the sudden change in dynamic. "You persuaded my sister to stay with you last night in here, thinking _oh, Ron will never find out, and it's just a bit of fun_, am I right?" He began advancing on Harry, who backed around the edge of the bed.

"No! It was nothing like that! She made _me_ let her stay!"

"Oh, and you so valiantly objected, did you? Pull the other one. I'm sure you were more than happy to let her stay." Ron snarled, shoving Harry in the chest, forcing him to take another step backwards.

"Nothing happened! I'm still clothed, she's still clothed. Nothing happened, honestly!" he shouted, pushing back.

"Doesn't mean you didn't do anything! Copped a feel, didn't you? She's my sister, Harry! And if you ever hurt her, or take advantage of her or-" there was a thump as Harry back into the wall. Ron seemed to lose his train of thought, "Hurt her, and _I'll kill you_," he hissed.

"Ron!" Hermione shoved her way in between the two of them, glaring at Ron, "This is _Harry_! You know he wouldn't hurt himself before he _ever_ hurt your sister. And yes, it wasn't particularly responsible of him to let Ginny spend the night in his room, but he would never pressure her to. In fact, on that side of things, Ginny's a lot more likely to be the guilty party in that matter."

There was a long pause, as Ron continued to glower at Harry over the top of Hermione's head.

"I'm going to go have breakfast," he muttered, before striding out of the room.

* * *

Walking downstairs with Hermione, Harry asked, "How did he find out?"

To his surprise, Hermione blushed.

"Well, he came to say good morning to me, and then saw that Ginny wasn't in her bed. I told him she had just gone to make a cup of tea. He said he hadn't heard the bedroom door open. I'm sorry Harry, he made me tell him that Ginny hadn't been in all night. I tried to stop him from barging into your room..."

"It's okay, don't worry. I should have been more responsible. I just got a bit, uh, caught up in the moment..." It was Harry's turn to redden.

Ron seemed to have calmed down by the time they reached the kitchen. Breakfast was awkward, and barely anything was said, but Harry preferred it to arguing. At ten he apparated Ginny home, who had refused to talk to Ron since being told to get out of Harry's room. He left her outside The Burrow's back gate, after telling her he'd see her when they got back from Australia and kissing her softly.

* * *

That day was a mess of packing and cleaning, but on Wednesday they headed into the centre of London to buy some new furniture and decorations, new rugs, carpet, paint and wallpaper. Ron was in a foul mood all day, which only worsened when Harry and Hermione refused to purchase a couch that would bite unwelcome visitors that had the misfortune to sit on it.

"Come on guys," he whined, "just imagine it, Malfoy pays us a surprise visit to show off about the new line of racing broomsticks he's releasing, sits down, _wham_! Man-eating sofa, one, Ferret Boy, nil." he cackled evilly.

"How's it supposed to know who's an unwelcome guest and who's not?" asked Hermione, examining the sofa warily.

"Yeah, Ron, we're trying to make the house friendlier; more welcoming. A biting couch isn't going to help that."

Ron crossed his arms and muttered, "When I'm married and have my own place, I'm getting one of these."

"No, we won't," blurted Hermione, before turning a very bright shade of fuchsia.

"I-I'm going to go and find lampshades," she stammered, before running off to the other side of the department store at top speed.

"So, uh, not this sofa then?" Ron asked uncomfortably. It took all of Harry's mental strength not to laugh out loud; it took a lot to embarrass Hermione, and the crimson shade of Ron's ears was beginning to stain his cheeks, too.

* * *

Thursday morning dawned bright and early, a thin mist settled over the rooftops of London, turning beautiful shades of orange and pink in the sunrise.

Harry, however, did not think it was beautiful. It was too early in the morning for beautiful. In the room down the corridor, Ron had no opinion on the sunrise. He was fast asleep.

Hermione didn't have time for things like sunrises. She had woken at four, and was now cooking breakfast downstairs, after waking Harry and many fruitless attempts to wake Ron.

Harry stumbled bleary eyed into the kitchen.

"What time is it, and what time's the flight?" he yawned.

"It's quarter to five, and our flight's at eleven thirty," she stated brightly.

"Hermione! We have six hours until then!" Harry exclaimed, aghast.

"Well, if the ministry car Kingsley is sending arrives at six thirty, and it takes us an hour to get to the airport, and then we have plenty of time to check in before the flight."

"But you're only supposed to check in two hours before a flight, not four!"

"I thought we would beat the crowds," she reasoned, not allowing him to put her down, "Could you go and wake Ron again?" Harry scowled.

"No. At least then one of us can get a reasonable amount of sleep." he left Hermione to finish kitchen and went upstairs to shower.

* * *

The bruise from the killing curse was almost got, now all that remained was a pale green and yellow splash across him chest. Part of him wished it had stayed as a reminder of that day. Another part just wished he could forget everything. He showered and dressed in comfortable clothes, and then began to pack his hand-luggage.

At quarter past five, he went into Ron's room and hit his friend over the head with a pillow. There was no response. He pointed his wand at the slumbering mass and though _Levicorpus_. With a yelp of alarm not dissimilar to the one he had emitted in sixth year, Ron was hoisted into the air by his ankle. Though satisfied that he was awake, Harry doubted that he would stay that way for long. He cast a levitating charm over his friend and with a flick of his wand in the direction of the door, Ron began drifting after Harry, flailing and cursing.

The ministry car pulled up to take them to the airport at six o'clock, prompt. They piled their luggage into the magically extended boot. They would have used Hermione's bag, except that, as she pointed out after Ron almost fell to his death lugging his suitcase down the stairs, Muggle security at the airport would find it a bit suspicious that they were taking one small bag on a three week trip. Also, the charm would mess with the hand luggage screening machines.

"Heathrow?" the driver from the ministry asked as they climbed into the back row of seats.

"Yes please,"

Ron gave Hermione a questioning look.

"Heathrow is the airport we'll be flying from, Ronald."

"Well _sorry_," he muttered under his breath. He was still in a bad mood after his rude wake up forty-five minutes previously.

* * *

Harry had never been in an airport before, but it wasn't too different from a train station. Ron was fascinated by everything, and it very much reminded Harry of a young child experiencing something brand new for the first time. While Hermione checked them in, Ron stared up at the flight timetables with an expression of dumbfounded awe on his face.

His excitement only grew when they went through the metal detectors and entered the duty free. Hermione and Harry exchanged glances. In the end, they took shifts in looking after him, like parents with a toddler.

Finally, and not a moment too soon, a voice announced that all passengers on the flight from Heathrow to Sydney, Australia should begin to board the plane.

It took a lot of struggling to get Ron away from the Aftershave display, but not because he was so engrossed in it that he didn't want to leave it, but because as soon as the announcement was made, he remembered how they were going to be _getting_ to Australia. After reassuring, arguing, and threatening him, he finally, but reluctantly let them drag him onto the plane.

Harry stared out of the window at the tarmac of the runway.

"_Goodbye, England," _he thought, _"Hello Australia."_


	10. Chapter 10: Agonised Parents

**Chapter 10: Agonised Parents**

_"_Stop fidgeting!" Harry hissed at Ron, who had not stopped wriggling in his small plane seat since they had taken off, a mere two hours ago; the longest two hours of Harry's entire life.

"I would if they made these chairs big enough for the averaged sized human male!" Ron grumbled, before turning large puppy eyes on Harry, his hand inching towards his pocket. "Come on, please? Just one tiny spell and I won't bother you for the rest of the journey, I promise!"

"No! You're not making the seat bigger! If anything goes wrong, this plane comes down." It wasn't exactly true; to be fair, Harry had no idea what using magic on a plane would do, but he didn't really want to know. The lie did what he wanted it to, though, and Ron froze, turned back to face the back of the chair in front of him, clasped his hands in his lap, and shut up. Harry turned back to the muggle newspaper he had picked up from the airport with a slight grin, and silently began to count down to the moment when Ron started up his fidgeting again.

* * *

By six o'clock that night, neither Hermione nor Harry could handle it anymore. They were both tired, and had run out of reading material, and Ron would not shut up. He was attempting to cover up his nervousness by asking question upon question to them, mostly questions about Australia, which, having never been there before, they couldn't answer. A passing stewardess gave them a sympathetic look that someone might give the parents of a hyperactive child. Hermione, with the look of someone who'd played quidditch with a bunch of Cornish pixies for twelve hours, suddenly got up, saying she was going to get them all drinks of water. Harry shot her a pleading 'don't leave me alone with him!' look, but she just shook her head slightly at him, and strode down to the end of the plane.

"Are there any Quidditch teams in Australia?"

Harry sighed.

"Yeah, there are the Woollongong Warriors and the Thundelarra Thunderers... wait, you've read Quidditch Through The Ages! You know this!"

Ron paused, his brows knitted. "Oh yeah..."

Harry wanted to slap his hand to his forehead.

"Can we go see them play?"

"I don't know, maybe. But we can't go see the Thunderers in Perth."

"Why not?"

Harry wanted to beat Ron round the head with something. "Because the Thunderers are from Perth! Which is on the West Coast, while Sydney, where we're going, is on the East Coast."

"Oh."

Luckily, Hermione returned at that moment, and handed Ron a plastic cup of water, before sitting down and passing Harry one. She had a weird, almost mischievous expression on her face as she watched Ron down the drink, which became clear as his eyes flickered shut, and he slumped down in his seat.

"What...?" Harry began to ask, staring at his friend's unconscious form.

"Just sleeping pills I picked up in the pharmacy at the airport, plus a little... enhancement, to make them work faster. I thought they might come in handy."

"Thank you," Relief flooded his voice, "how long will he be out for?"

"At least twelve hours; I gave him three."

"Yikes. Could I have one? There's no way I'll be able to sleep in these seats."

"Sure." She chucked him the packet of pills. He popped one out, and downed it with some water.

"Let's hope they work, eh?" Harry mumbled, sleep already clouding his thoughts. His eyes slid shut, and unconsciousness took over.

* * *

Harry woke up to a bright sun outside the plane. Back in England it was around seven in the morning, but here, flying over Indonesia, it was about two in the afternoon. They would be landing in five hours. Harry groaned internally, and pulled a book out of his rucksack. At least Ron was still drooling into Hermione's shoulder.

* * *

They got off the plane in Sydney to bare trees, but it was warm compared to a British winter. The sky was almost cloudless, the stars above twinkling brightly. Ron had awoken mere minutes before, and upon realising what Hermione had done, was refusing to speak to either of them, though by his expression, his mood wouldn't last long; he was far too relieved to be off the plane, and was mildly happy he had slept through most of the journey.

As they walked out of the baggage claim, Harry spotted a man in a suit holding a sign that read "Potter, Weasley, Granger".

"Kingsley must have contacted the Australian Ministry," said Harry, mostly to himself.

They followed the man to a sleek black car parked outside, and clambered in. No one said anything as the car wound its way through Sydney's motorways and into the main city, heading right for the city centre. After about forty five minutes, they turned into a multi-story car park. The three exchanged bemused glances. Their driver wound down his window as they came up the ticket booth, and tipped his cap at the man attending it.

"Goodday, Steve?"

"Goodday. Who you got back there today, then?"

The Driver lowered his voice, and leaned slightly further out of the window. "The Golden trio," he hissed with about as much subtly as a bludger beating you around the head would have. Harry rolled his eyes at Hermione and Ron.

"Really? Wow. Anyway, don't want to hold them up. See you around!" Steve the Ticket Booth Attendant turned and flicked a switch that raised the barrier in front of them. They drove forwards into the car park, and the driver turned left, down to a lower floor, and then towards a space over the other side of the car park, that was marked with a disabled sign. Once he was parked in the spot, there was a loud _thunk_, and the car began to sink.

"What's going on?" Ron asked, suddenly talking to them again, and looking a little frantic.

"You didn't honestly expect the visitors' entrance to the ministry here to be the same as the one in London, did you?" Hermione asked, astonished. Ron closed his mouth, and his ears darkened in the orangey light of the car park.

The car-lift hit the floor of its destination with the same loud _thunk, _and the three climbed out. Once all their baggage was taken out of the trunk, the car rolled off and parked itself alongside four more cars identical to it. The driver escorted them through a door that looked rather too ornate to be used as an exit from a sub-basement garage.

Strangely, though the visitors' entrance was rather different to the London Ministry's one, the main hall of the one they stood in currently was rather the same. The walls were lined with fireplaces filled with glittering green flames, and the floor was white polished marble. Wizards and witches bustled to and fro in the same businesslike fashion Harry had seen so many times at the Ministry, and blue paper aeroplane memos flitted about. Harry even spotted a memo folded into the shape of a kangaroo hopping alone the ground, avoiding as best it could the many feet that threatened to trample it.

A sandy haired man only a few years older than them came up and greeted them, and the driver departed. They were led to a bank of lifts at the other end of the chamber, and followed the man into one, standing rather awkwardly as the lift descended. They hadn't yet been told where they were going, and were reluctant to ask. After what seemed like an age, the lift doors slid open to reveal a sort of waiting room. Opposite them, at the end of the room was another door, next to which was a desk so covered in blue memos that it was almost impossible to see the surface of the table beneath them. A frazzled looking witch was picking up each memo, checking it over, and scrawling something down on a piece of parchment before her. The sandy haired man indicated that they take a seat, and went over the witch. He muttered something to her, then strode back to the lift and left. The witch looked over her glasses at the three.

"The Minister will see you in a moment."

* * *

Sarah Macintosh was a tall woman, with long, dark hair hanging in curls round her shoulders. Her face was soft and friendly, but beneath her eyes were dark bags. She smiled warmly at the trio as they entered her office.

"Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, and, I suppose, most importantly on this visit, Miss Granger. It's wonderful to meet you all. I have been informed of the reason for your trip, and have had certain officials from this Ministry track down your parents. It was honestly the least I could do for you. Voldemort's influence affected us even here, and we are greatly thankful for what you three have done. Now, I believe you're raring to be reunited with your family. You'll find them at this address."


	11. Chapter 11: The Esplanade

**Chapter 11**

Hermione stared at the piece of parchment in her hand, knuckles white from how tight she clenched the slip. She was completely stiff, frozen, save for her bottom lip, which she anxiously chewed at.

"'Mione?" Ron whispered quietly, "Come on, we should go."

Eyes still fixed on the paper, she allowed herself to be lifted to her feet by Harry and Ron. As they escorted her to the door, Harry turned.

"Thank you, Miss Macintosh."

She smiled brightly at him. "Anytime, Mr Potter. Good luck, the three of you."

Out on the street, Hermione finally spoke.

"So... I suppose we better go and find my parents," she said quietly. Ron and Harry exchanged an awkward glance.

"Yeah, I guess. But maybe we should stop at a hotel tonight. It's almost eight o'clock, we're all tired, we don't know how long it'll take us to get to your parents house, and I don't think they'll appreciate us turning up at there house late at nigh blathering about memory charms and a daughter they don't remember having." Ron caught Hermione's expression at that and stopped.

Quietly, Harry said, "I know you want to find them as soon as possible, but Ron has a point. We'll stay the night somewhere, but I promise we'll leave to find your parents first thing tomorrow. Promise."

It turned out that the Ministry of Magic was very close to Sydney Central Station, so they headed towards it, hoping to ask someone for the best way to get to the Esplanade, the road that Hermione's parents lived on. At the station they were given a list of instructions, and purchased a map. Harry spoke to the women in the ticket booth, as Ron stood awkwardly at the side with Hermione, uncertain as to what to do or where to look.

The booked a couple of rooms at a fairly cheap place called the Bounce Hotel that was right by the station. Nothing much was said as they ate dinner in the hotel's restaurant, and in the end the three of them left for their separate rooms. No one slept much; nerves and jetlag made sure of it.

* * *

The journey to the Espalanade took about forty-five minutes. They took the CityRail South train from platform 17 to platform six of the Wynyard station, and from there they took the 180 bus from Carrington Street to Spit Road, North Abawa Street, Mosman. They followed their map to _39__The Esplanade, Mosman New South Wales 2088. _Ron stood uncomfortably to the side as they sorted through their muggle money for the transport fares, and gripped the edge of the bus seat

And there they were, staring up at the set of flats that shone slightly in sun. Glass panelled balconies faced out onto Hunters Bay. Any other day, the three would have paused to admire the view, but today they didn't even notice it.

They didn't say anything, they just stood and watched, unsure what to do now that they had found the house.

The minutes ticked by, until the front door of the building opened. A small gasp escaped Hermione's lips as a tall man with thick, dark hair, and a shorter woman with straight, cropped brown hair appeared. Neither Harry nor Ron needed to ask who they were, but to their horror, the couple crossed to road, heading in the direction of the trio. Harry glanced at Hermione, whose face was a mask of shock and something that looked like hope. About a metre from the three, the man and woman stopped.

"Hey, we saw you guys from out apartment, staring at the building. Are you lost or something? Can we help you?"

Ron appeared to be working some sort of response around in his mouth, but after a moment, Harry realised he probably wasn't going to say anything for a while, and there was a possibility that if he did, it wouldn't be a particularly eloquent sentence. He decided to interject before that happened.

"Uh, well, we're supposed to be meeting some friends here, but they're, well, not here..."

"Ah, you're from England, you three? Us too!" Hermione's father said enthusiastically, "Well, you probably already guessed that from the accents. Anyway, we would invite you in for tea while you wait for your friends, as our apartment looks out onto the street and you'd easily be able to see them from the balcony, but I'm afraid we're off out briefly. I'll tell you what, though, if you're still waiting when we get back in about... half an hour, then you can come and wait inside. How about that then?"

Harry was a little lost for words. "Uh..." he said finally, "yeah, that'd be great, thank you so much."

Finally, Hermione's mother spoke, "Don't worry, it's nothing at all. Goodbye!" The two of them wandered off leaving Harry and Ron staring after them, feeling shocked.

* * *

_A/N: Oh wow. Ten months. That's insane. I started writing this semi-chapter back in January, but got really "Urgh, this is so boring, no one's going to want to read this, I suck at writing, argh!" about it, but several things made me see it was necessary to upload this. Firstly, I realised how many people are subscribed to this, and therefore how many people 1) Think I'm a good enough writer and this is a good enough story that they would like to continue reading it once it's updated and 2) are sitting, waiting for me to post again. I know it's taken me a while to realise this, but I have now!_

_Right, also, I'm sorry for how short and dull this chapter is. It's hardly action packed now, is it? I apologise for this, but it is necessary for the story to continue, and now it's out of the way, it finally can! Now, speaking of stories, I have two new ones going on. The first one is called Letters To Fred, and is a series of...letters to Fred (go figure). This one have about five or six letters so far, and shall be updated whenever I get inspiration for the kinds of things people would want to say to him. _

_The second story is called Reputations. It's a Dramione fic I've just started writing, if you're into Dramione, and I have big hopes for it as a story. The relationship in that shall be very slow in developing, and I'm keeping the characters as close to JKR's as possible, only adding things in where aspects of their personality were not mentioned or portrayed in the books, if that makes sense. It's set post Deathly Hallows. _

_Right, I've gone on far too long. I shall update hopefully within the next couple of weeks._

_If you're still reading this story, thanks so much for sticking with me, guys!_

_MODA_


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